The World Through New Eyes
by ALittleLion
Summary: AU. Quinn Fabray wants so badly to be normal, but her lost memories, strange circumstances, and no recollection of who or what she is keeps holding her back. When she meets Rachel Berry, Quinn gets that breath of fresh air she's been waiting for.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I couldn't leave it alone. I said no more stories until "Concrete Jungle" was finished, but I just couldn't leave this alone. It's a little weird, a little different, and (hopefully) strange enough to grab your attention. Also, I don't own anything related to the "Glee" universe except the crazy ideas involving the characters that invade my subconscious mind while I'm sleeping. But I do hope you enjoy my insanity.  
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><p>Finally, the memories are all starting to come back.<p>

They've made their return slowly, piece by piece to give me necessary direction.

For months, a voice has been my only guide and only friend.

It tells me to run. To run fast and run far, and to never, ever look back.

In dreams, that's what I remember the most.

Running. I'm never certain what I'm running from, but I can't stop, and I don't stop.

I set up shop in a small town called Lima, Ohio about six months ago. The voice directed me to a bank account registered under my crafted pseudonym. I had all the answers I needed to get enough money to pay a first and last month's deposit on a small apartment, and then managed to enroll myself in school.

The voice created my back story, the lie I would tell over and over to my new classmates and acquaintances.

Orphaned. Left inheritance money by an old widow who took care of me when she passed.

No family. No friends.

According to the voice, my name is Quinn Fabray.

I know enough to know that it's not my real name. But, since I don't remember my real name, Quinn will have to do.

Quinn is all I know.

My created story, the falsehoods of my origin - they are all I have.

I pulled into the parking lot of McKinley High School and took a moment to watch eager, smiling faces descend upon the building. They waved at old friends, they embraced, they played catch on the lawn. Boys tackled each other, couples kissed each other hello. This was the place where I was supposed to learn.

I wasn't sure what knowledge McKinley High School had to offer me.

I didn't have the answers anymore.

The voice had been silent for days.

My head throbbed, causing a dull ache to start on both sides of my head at the temples. I leaned forward, closing my eyes and hoping there would be some momentary reprieve.

There wasn't.

I forced my eyes to open, gripped the steering wheel one last time, then exited my vehicle. I grabbed my backpack out of the back seat and shifted it over my shoulder. I brushed slightly sweaty palms against the denim of my jeans and swallowed.

I forced my feet to move forward.

But all I wanted to do was run away.

I wanted to run fast, run far, and never look back.

I wanted to run and never, ever stop.

I wanted the voice to give me directions, to tell me how to act. What to say. How to be. I felt lost, unsure of everything I was about to face.

But Quinn kept walking.

She walked toward the other students, moved past their embraces and laughter, their calls to one another in joyous greeting. She moved past the green, well-manicured lawn, up concrete stairs, and took me inside the building. I clutched my backpack strap tighter, feeling the sweat continue racing to my palms. It wasn't that warm outside, and air conditioning kept the building cool, but my blood felt like it was boiling.

I could feel my heartbeat in my temples, and closed my eyes. Quinn kept walking, and led me to my locker safely. I opened my eyes and fumbled in my pockets for a small scrap of paper where I had written down my locker combination.

_7-22-28_

I entered the numbers, spinning the lock with almost practiced ease, and heard it click open. I released the lock, opened the door, and set my books inside. I organized it; notebooks on one side, pencils, pens, and other writing supplies on the top shelf, books on the other side. I tucked my backpack behind everything, grabbed my Spanish book, one notebook, a pen, and shut my locker.

I turned around, and Quinn found herself looking into steely brown eyes. I looked lowered, to the person's mouth. It smirked, and those eyes continued to stare past me. It was unsettling.

My head felt like it could explode.

_No matter what, you must always remember your manners. _

The voice had given me that piece of advice, rules to live by.

Rules to make it easier to survive in Lima, Ohio. To survive my new existence.

"Is there something I can help you with?" I politely asked.

"What's up, new girl?" the brunette asked. The smirk never left her face, and I took a step backward, resting against the cool metal of my locker. I tried not to look like I was intimated. But I was.

I hadn't been prepared for this type of interaction. I was blank.

"I was organizing my locker, preparing for my first class," I replied.

Honesty. That was a good, practical start.

"Yeah, I almost never go to class," the brunette said. The smirk faded slightly, and I felt her size me up, her eyes sweeping from head to toe. Then she finally settled back on my face. I wondered if it would be considered rude to do the same. To size her up.

I chanced it and did the same. She was lean, but appeared to be strong. She was likely an athlete. Her skin was bronze, tanned, probably more a symbol of her ethnic heritage than being out in the sun, although it could have very well been a mixture of both. Her eyes, although they were warm in color, were not warm in concept. When I looked into them, I felt a chill race down my spine.

"You are a student here, though?" I asked. I didn't know attending class was optional for students.

"Yeah, I'm a Junior. But enough about me. I want to know about you, new girl," she continued. Her voice was smooth, but husky. Something about it made me wary, raised my suspicion. I wanted to run.

Quinn wouldn't move.

"There really isn't much to know about me," I said, hoping that a small smile of my own would disarm her. I wanted her off my scent. Immediately.

"Everybody's got a story, sweetheart," she purred. She got closer, and placed a hand next to my head on the neighboring locker. "I'm done askin' nicely."

I had been prepared for this. Well prepared. I had answers for this line of questioning.

"My name is Quinn Fabray, no middle name. I moved here from Boston. The woman I was staying with died and left me enough money to pay for school and live comfortably on my own. At least for a little while. I'm an orphan, I don't remember my parents. I don't have any family, and I haven't made any friends yet. Would you like to be my friend?"

"I didn't want to hear your fucking sob story," she groaned. "Jesus. What are you, some kind of alien or something?"

She removed her hand from the locker next to me quickly and took a step back.

"I'm not an alien," I replied.

At least, I was pretty sure I wasn't. The voice had never explained my biological origin. Real or fake.

The brunette continued to step back, and shook her head.

"Fuckin' freak," she grumbled, then started walking away. I watched her, and saw her meet up with a blonde-haired girl with bright blue eyes and a beautiful smile. This seemed to cheer her up a little, and she laced her pinky with the other girl's before they disappeared around a corner together. Out of sight. The relief hit me instantly.

I survived.

I shook my head and held my books tight to my chest. I walked down the hallway, finding it difficult to maneuver through so many bodies, so many humans, all of them seemingly oblivious to my existence, not stopping to make room for me to pass. Quinn developed an air of confidence, and pushed her way through the crowd, not in a violent way, but in a commanding way that assured she made it safely to her destination.

I just went along for the ride.

I found the classroom and entered, finding that I was the only person in the classroom. I had arrived even before the teacher. I looked around, then up at the clock, realizing that I was a good ten minutes early. Everyone else likely had better things to do with their ten minutes before class. They had friends to talk to, co-workers to discuss lesson plans with, perhaps. It was the first day back to school, and I felt certain that most people weren't eager to start things so quickly. They would take every last second they had to their advantage.

But not me. I had no one.

I had the company of an empty room.

My headache shifted to a comfortable, dull ache that didn't bother me, but still held fast to its existence. I closed my eyes again, leaving them shut until I sensed movement.

I sensed it before I heard it, and I didn't hear movement until at least thirty seconds after the initial sensor went off in my head.

_How peculiar._ I opened my eyes and looked up, at the door, in wait.

A man strolled in, carrying a stylish leather book bag across his chest. He set it down on the desk and pulled out a few supplies; whiteboard pens, erasers, papers, then finally looked up. He adjusted his tie and offered me a kind smile.

"Oh," he said, "I didn't expect anyone else to be in here. And so early!"

"I can leave," I offered.

I hoped he wouldn't take me up on this offer. After all, I had nowhere else to go. I supposed that I could find a quiet place to hide, a corner or another empty classroom, but it wouldn't be very safe to be strewn amongst the masses, waiting for another person like the girl outside my locker to come at me with an intimidating smirk and curse words.

Quinn felt brave, ready for the challenge.

I still wanted to run.

"No, stay. I'm Mr. Schuester. Are you new here?" he asked.

"Yes. My name is Quinn Fabray," I replied politely.

He looked down at one of the papers on his desk, then smiled and scribbled something on the sheet.

"Well, Quinn, you are on my attendance roster. That's a good sign. At least you were in the right place, huh?"

"It was on my schedule. The classroom," I said softly.

He laughed nervously, and smiled again.

"It was a joke."

I forced a smile. I didn't find it to be a very funny joke.

_Remember your manners._

"So," Mr. Schuester continued, obviously trying to strike up a conversation. Perhaps to make me comfortable. It was a welcome change, even if he was overly enthusiastic. "Where are you from?"

"I'm from Boston," I said. "The woman I was staying with died and left me enough money to pay for school and live comfortably on my own. At least for a little while. I'm an orphan, I don't remember my parents. I don't have any family, and I haven't made any friends yet."

He made a face and nodded.

"That's..." he said, then exhaled heavily. "That's... rough. I'm sorry. But no worries! Lima is a great town, and I'm sure you'll make lots of friends here at McKinley."

"I met one person this morning," I replied. "She was very unfriendly."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mr. Schuester said. "Well, tell you what. Here."

He walked over to my desk, and handed me a slip of paper with a room number and a name.

Ms. Emma Pillsbury.

"She's the school counselor. Really great. If you're having any... difficult with adjusting or, with, you know... with anything, you could go see her. She's not pushy, a great listener. Could be just what you need."

"Thank you," I replied. My temple started to throb again. I must have winced, because my teacher's face shifted to one of concern.

"Are you all right?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Just a little bit of a headache," I lied. "It could be because of first day nerves."

He smiled.

"I'm sure McKinley is different than your last school, but all high schools have similarities, and once you figure out how to thrive here, I'm sure you'll be great," he said kindly. I nodded, because there were no other words to be said.

There was no other high school.

At least, not that I remember.

My past was shrouded in some sort of cloud, some haze that I couldn't remember in greater details than what the voice told me, and what I saw in dreams and in 15-second flashes and chunks that happened randomly. There had been no memory of friends, or school, or family, or anything to that subject, so I assumed that none existed.

I didn't know what that meant, to lack that sort of foundation. It made me wonder where I came from, when there seemed to be nothing. I was seventeen years old. There had been seventeen years behind me, as far as I knew, and I remembered about twenty minutes of it.

Total.

The first bell rang, and Mr. Schuester moved to the white board, writing down a few words that were unfamiliar to me. They certainly weren't in English. Other students came trickling in, and everyone picked seats. No one had chosen seats next to me, at least not yet.

A group of boys came in, tossing what I suspected was a football carelessly to each other, not bothering to have any mind or courtesy for the students they might be putting in danger. Mr. Schuester was quick to discipline them, extending his hand and taking the ball. He placed it on the table in front of him and then continued to write on the board.

The boys all took their seats, forming a cluster near the back, and continued chatting loudly. I tried to listen in, but after a while, their combined voices and habitual talking over one another became something akin to white noise, and I had to tune it out. I ducked my head down, noticing that my ears were starting to ring, and felt the throbbing in my temple again. My heartbeat quickened, and I felt the coppery tang of blood form in my throat, almost as if I had bitten my own tongue. I raked my tongue along the roof of my mouth; no blood had been drawn, but my breathing was shallow, and the coppery taste remained.

Just then, a girl strolled in through the doors. Her hair was also brown, like the girl who confronted me outside my locker, and bounced on her shoulders as she walked. I smiled when I noticed the dolphin on her black sweater, outlined in white and complimented nicely by a checkered skirt and black shoes. Her hair was pulled back with a black headband, but small strands fell out, framing her delicate features. She had a smile plastered on her face and clutched her books to her chest as she looked for a seat. Everyone adjusted, shooting her glares and frowns, unfriendly and cold. Her smile faded, and her eyes continued to wander until it landed on the seat next to me.

Her eyes caught mine and I felt my heartbeat increase yet again. I looked everywhere but at her for as long as I could, and when I could no longer look away, I found that she was still looking in my direction. Quinn offered her a smile, and she smiled back, then traveled the short distance to the seat that was still unoccupied, until she sat down. She placed her books in the center of the desk and opened her notebook to a clean page, then uncapped her pen.

I kept looking forward.

I didn't know the protocol. Again, I was at a loss.

I wasn't sure how to communicate, and was feeling even less confident after what seemed to be a negative event earlier.

But this girl seemed friendly, and also perhaps like a bit of an outsider. And that, if nothing else, I could definitely understand.

"Thank you," she whispered.

I turned to meet her, and saw that she was regarding me with warmth and grace. Her kindness spoke volumes, just as the gentility of her voice did.

"For what?" I asked, not quite understanding what exactly I had done to be awarded her gratitude.

"Nobody ever really saves me a spot or even lets me sit near them," she replied. "It's like elementary school, when everybody had 'cooties,' but mine didn't go away. Thanks for not being like the rest of them."

"Cooties?" I asked.

Was that a sickness? I wasn't sure. It didn't sound pleasant.

"Yeah, you know... the imaginary disease that you get in grade school when you're unpopular. It gives people an excuse not to be around you? Or to make you feel terrible for occupying in their space?"

She paused. I still said nothing.

"I guess nobody had cooties where you come from. You're new, right?" the girl asked. I nodded. "I thought you were new. Where are you from, anyway?"

I don't know. All I have are lies.

"Boston."

I remembered the voice. I remembered my story. I had it prepared, ready to unleash, ready to explain. I had to keep things air-tight, unbreakable. But somehow, even my most rehearsed speech was unhelpful to me.

I couldn't talk to this girl.

"Really? I've never been to Boston. But I've heard it's really pretty there. Do you miss it?" she asked.

"No," I said simply.

How can you miss something you don't even remember?

"You're kind of shy, aren't you? Well, that's okay. I won't make you talk if you don't want to. Maybe you'd feel better if we exchanged names! That's kind of an icebreaker, isn't it? I'm Rachel. Rachel Berry."

"My name is Quinn Fabray. No middle name."

"Huh. Well, it's nice to meet you, Quinn Fabray," Rachel Berry replied. She extended her hand, then looked at me expectantly. I knew what that meant, and I joined our hands, shaking hers gently. I felt my muscles tense, seize, and suddenly felt very warm. I pulled away quickly and folded my hands on top of my desk.

I didn't want to touch her anymore.

_Remember your manners._

"I'm sorry. You're just very warm," I explained.

It was an odd reply, but it was honest... mostly honest at least, and didn't seem to faze her.

"I've been told that I have a very welcoming personality," she said with another smile. "I could probably be Lima's official one-woman Welcoming Committee if I didn't already have so many extracurricular activities occupying my schedule."

"Do you play sports?" I asked.

It was a common activity, from what I'd read. I thought about taking up a few sports, if it would give me some outlet to help me create a place for myself among the masses. So much was missing from my life, from what I could remember, and I didn't want to miss things any longer. I wanted to make a name for myself. I wanted to be somebody. Even if that somebody was formed by a voice in my head and wasn't _really _me. As far as I knew, at least.

"I haven't the build for most sports," Rachel explained. "Too small. It works for me in some ways. I excel at dance. I suppose that is considered a sport by those with an above average intelligence quotient."

Maybe I could learn to dance.

"I might learn sports," I said.

Rachel laughed softly and smiled even wider.

"I don't know that you _learn _sports, Quinn. I think there's a natural aptitude, just like with most physical activities, and then you hone your skills. Or like with singing. I'm a singer. I had the natural aptitude, and have devoted my life to honing my skills to pitch-perfect excellence."

"I like music."

"Doesn't everyone? Music is the key to the soul. The window to the spirit. Without music, life is just... droll and... colorless," Rachel said passionately.

I smiled.

The bell rang, and I jumped a little. Rachel's hand found my shoulder, and her heat ripped through the shirt I was wearing. My heartbeat picked up again, and I felt uncomfortable. She must have sensed it, because she removed her hand and took to looking at me. I think she was concerned.

"I'm okay," I said. How could I tell her that her touch made me feel like I was being burned alive? That certainly wasn't polite, after all.

"Hola, clase. As most of you know, I'm Mr. Schuester, and unless you're in the wrong place, this is Dos Espanol. I'm just going to take roll, and then we can get started on today's lesson."

"Mr. Schue is really great," Rachel whispered, leaning across the aisle slightly. "He's also the teacher for Glee Club, which is my number one activity."

Glee Club?

"You belong to a club devoted to happiness? No wonder you're so nice."

Rachel laughed, then used her hand to muffle the sound when she realized that it was bordering on being a disruption.

"No, Glee Club is about singing," Rachel explained. "Well, performance. We sing and dance, and we perform the numbers we work on after school. In competition. It's a lot of fun. You should join!"

"Why don't they call it Singing Club, then?" I asked. Rachel bit down on her bottom lip and stared at me.

"You're funny, Quinn. I like you," she said decisively.

"Rachel Berry?" Mr. Schuester asked, looking around the room for a moment. Rachel sat straight up in her chair and raised her hand up in the air.

"Present, Mr. Schue," she chirped. "And also, hola."

"Hola, Rachel," Mr. Schuester replied. He moved on to the next name, and another student answer. Rachel turned back to me.

"Come to Glee Club. We meet after class, at 3:30. In the choir room."

"I don't sing," I said.

"Have you ever tried?"

I tried to remember. I searched my memories, frantically, one right after another. I needed to get an answer, but couldn't find one. Had I ever tried to sing? Had I ever enjoyed singing? Apparently you couldn't just _learn _it, you had to possess some foundation before. What if I didn't? I couldn't remember ever singing, ever knowing how, ever trying.

No. No, I hadn't.

"No."

"Well, you can try for me," Rachel insisted. "I'm excellent. I'll teach you. I could give you lessons."

"For pay?" I asked.

"No, because I like you, and because you let me sit by you, even thought I could totally have cooties. And you could be susceptible, since you don't even know what they are."

"Are they lethal?" I asked seriously.

Maybe that was why she set my skin on fire. I had surely contracted some lethal disease from this slightly eccentric, personable, strangely _beautiful _girl and perhaps soon, things like the voice, my directions, and even running wouldn't matter.

"They don't exist, Quinn," Rachel said, her facial expression serious instead of jovial as usual. "I was kidding. It was a joke."

"Oh," I replied. I quickly forced a laugh.

"Quinn Fabray?" Mr. Schuester called out, shocking me to attention and forcing me to almost tumble out of my chair. I sat up straight, remembering what Rachel had done and mimicking her perfectly.

"Freak," one of the other students jeered from the back. "Look guys, they're flocking together."

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. I felt my temple throb, pulsing behind my eyes and causing a bright, bright light to pulse just off to the distance. He watched me, curious for a moment, then suddenly twisted in his seat and raised his hands in defeat. I recognized the sign of surrender, but did not let up. He looked pained, uncomfortable... weak.

"Holy shit, lay off with the crazy eyes, Carrie," he commented. "Cut it out!"

His voice raised in pitch, from threat to panic, and I smiled slowly. Menacingly. He shifted again, and started to look like he was developing slight physical pain. My temple throbbed harder, and then I felt Rachel's hand on my shoulder. I closed my eyes and shook my head, and heard silence.

Everyone around me was silent. I looked back at my taunter and tilted my head to the side. He smiled out of fear, out of trepidation, and his hands were still raised in surrender.

"Sorry. Jesus, I'm sorry," he said quietly, his words mumbled. He turned to his friends, all of whom were staring open-mouthed, in shock.

I didn't know what happened, but nobody said a thing to me, or to Rachel after my incident. Rachel's hand was still on my shoulder, and it started to burn again. I shifted away, but offered an apologetic smile as a buffer, hoping she wouldn't think my consistent shrugging her away was rude.

"Quinn, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I assured her with a whisper. "Why?"

"Because..." Rachel said, her voice meek and showcasing a slight tremble. "It almost looked like you wanted to kill him."

"No!" I said emphatically. I couldn't let her think I was a monster. Even if I _was _a monster. Maybe I was a monster, but I didn't want her to hate me. To stay away from me. To think I had those cooties, whatever they were.

I had a chance to make a friend. I had a chance to be somebody. I needed to be normal.

"No, I wasn't going to do anything bad. I was just trying to be intimidating. I don't think it's right for them to bully people," I explained as Mr. Schuester called the last few names. Rachel smiled again and nodded, seemingly pleased with my little lie.

It was a lie.

Because in that moment... I think I could have killed him.

I think I wanted to.

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><p><strong>Reviews? Comments? Suggestions? I'd love to hear from you. So drop me a line, and I'll get back to the ol' writing machine.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

Lunch hour was a spectacle.

I walked into the cafeteria, holding a brown paper bag, and surveyed my surroundings. It seemed like a hierarchy, almost. Certain people flocked to certain tables, all in groups. They were color-coded in my mind, but to a normal person, it would probably make sense. One table had kids all wearing black, another had students with school colors, jackets with letters. Athletic types flocked to another table. There was a kid playing guitar at another with other people talking, tapping, and sometimes singing along. Another table had kids playing some strange card game. I walked through the sea of bodies, trying to find a place. There were no open tables.

I knew that I had to find a place. I had to carve a niche for myself out of the blank slate the voice had created for me and forge my own identity. Perhaps, if I learned cues in the silences, if I found hints of how to act along with my story, Quinn could be somebody important.

I passed another table, the seats full of females who were wearing matching jerseys for what I assumed was a team. Their eyes followed me, and one girl even gave me a small smile as I made my way through. I eyed the tables, wanting to find an open space, an open seat. Then I saw a table with only one occupant.

One occupant, and my heart leaped and surged.

It felt like an opportunity, and I could practically see the opening. I looked at the single person seated, watched her take her lunch out of a paper bag of her own and space the contents neatly in their plastic containers. Delicate hands continued to organize, and I admired their tenacity and attention to detail. After all, I was a bit of an observer, too. At least, I certainly felt that way. But perhaps that was normal for someone with the outsider perspective.

It took me a moment, but I realize who the single occupant of my chosen table was.

Rachel Berry.

The friendly girl from Spanish class.

The dangerous one.

I paused, halting my steps. I closed my eyes. I begged. I willed Quinn not to move. I couldn't build my home here.

_Go talk to her. She's the one you want._

The voice spoke up for the first time in months, and I couldn't stand still. My feet moved forward, almost as if they were possessed. Why was she the one? Why was I supposed to want her? I felt myself screaming on the inside, trapped. I banged my fists against my glass box, begging to be released. I didn't want this.

I didn't want this.

Her brown eyes looked up at me and she smiled immediately in response to my standing at the table's edge.

"Quinn, wasn't it?"

"Yes. My name is Quinn Fabray," I answered instantly.

"Last names really aren't necessary on a secondary basis, so you know," she said with a cheeky smile. "Just the first time. I'm glad I didn't forget, though. That would be horribly embarrassing. I barely saw you three hours ago!"

I continued to stand still. I waited for directions. I waited for Quinn to move.

After another moment ticked past, I didn't know what I was waiting for. But I knew that I was still waiting for something, so I didn't move.

"Were you wanting to sit here with me?" Rachel asked.

Quinn nodded.

Rachel's smile widened.

"I normally sit alone," Rachel continued. "It gets awfully dull, although I've learned to enjoy my own company. Please, take a seat, Quinn."

I sat down.

I set my bag down on the table and pulled my standard, traditional peanut butter and jelly sandwich out of a Ziploc plastic bag, set down another plastic bag of baby carrots next to it, and retrieved my bottle of water.

"You're a healthy eater," Rachel commented.

"Peanut butter and jelly is a classic combination. Although I don't know how preserved fruit can be that healthy for you, really," I said, wincing at my pathetic attempt to make conversation. Rachel laughed; apparently it wasn't a complete failure.

"There are some organic jams that are homemade and don't have all the preservatives. They cost a little more money, and you have to go to a different store than the regular grocery, but the taste is unreal."

"Thank you. Your lunch items seem quite healthful as well."

Rachel raised an eyebrow and looked at me curiously.

"Is there something troubling you?" I asked. I had to understand what _that _look meant.

"No. No, it's just strange to hear another young person speak with diction to which I'm accustomed instead of 'yeah dudes' and 'hey bro's'. It's refreshing," Rachel explained. "Not a bad thing. I didn't mean to inadvertently insult you, and if I did, I apologize."

"I didn't understand the look you gave me," I explained.

"Oh. Well, then I'll try to be more discreet with my facial expressions."

_You like her just as she is._

The voice spoke up again, and I nearly dropped my sandwich.

I wasn't certain what the importance of that message was. Normally, when the voice spoke, it had purpose to give direction or advice, but rarely was it so commanding to something that to me seemed unimportant and... frivolous.

Perhaps it was something meant to be repeated. Another part of my story.

"I like you just as you are."

"Most people don't," Rachel said, and her tone hinted at a touch of sadness. Quinn reached forward and covered Rachel's hand with her own. I flinched.

_You can't lie._

But I did lie once, about the bully in Spanish class.

_That was Quinn. You can't lie._

"I can't lie," I parroted. I held my touch until I felt her burn my skin again, then retreated, trying not to show the gentle pain that was still tingling across my palm. Rachel smiled and nibbled on her own sandwich.

She took a bite, then another, and then looked at me.

"Everyone can lie," she said softly. "It's not a good behavior, but it's part of the human condition."

I didn't know that I was human. If she was true in her words, it would lead to my first clue that went against logic, against reason, and would suggest that perhaps I wasn't a member of this species. Perhaps I was only visiting. Watching. Waiting for something, perhaps.

I needed more answers.

I asked the voice for more answers.

I always asked for more answers.

I only got commands in return.

"I can't remember ever telling a lie," I replied.

She smirked.

Well, it wasn't a lie.

"I think you just lied, Quinn Fabray," Rachel said. "Omission and speculation can be forms of lies."

"No, I truly cannot remember a time when I lied."

Quinn lied. Not me.

I looked straight into her eyes. Endless brown orbs met me, sucked me in, kept me grounded and sent me spiraling into an abyss all her own. I felt scared. Quinn moved closer. Quinn wasn't afraid.

I begged Quinn to let me look away, and my eyes shifted. I took a bite of my sandwich, then washed it down with a gulp of water when the peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth.

I couldn't remember most things. I didn't remember my life.

I knew snapshots, pieces of photographs that were all scattered, like haphazardly tossed around puzzle pieces in the middle of a giant floor. Separate, the pieces meant nothing; they were individual images, flickers of color and light, needing to be connected with a greater whole. Until I could assemble the puzzle, I would have only snapshots of memory, but no bigger picture.

However, as badly as I wanted to see the bigger picture, I always, always wondered if I'd end up liking the final image.

Or would I wish to run from that as well?

Would the truth cage me with bigger, sturdier locks, or would it set me free?

"Then you're better than most people," Rachel said simply. She took a bite of a shiny red apple, and I felt Quinn watching the motion of apple to Rachel's lips a little too intently. A little too _intensely_, perhaps, for my own comfort. I shook my head, then ate a carrot.

"Not better, Rachel. I do not wish to raise myself above any one person. I'm just different."

Which was an incredible understatement. I didn't know what I was, but it certainly was nothing like the other students, my peers, these people that surrounded me. They seemed to live a simple existence on the outside, but I could practically sense the turmoil that surrounded each and every one of them in waves. Lust. Desire. Anger. Sadness. Fear. Need. Rejection.

I looked at Rachel.

Insecurity.

I winced.

"Why did you decide to sit with me, Quinn?"

"There was nowhere else to sit," I replied.

It was honest, but she could no longer meet my gaze.

"You really are honest, aren't you?"

"I told you. I can't lie."

"Maybe you should learn that, too. Save my feelings," she said, and her smile, possibly forced, made me think that she was trying to joke. She was playing a role. She had admitted to being an actress. I felt ashamed. Rachel seemed like a wonderful person, and clearly, there was a reason I was with her and not trying to forge a path somewhere else.

The voice said to go to her.

Quinn wanted her.

And I... I wasn't sure what I wanted, but one thing I had learned was how to follow directions. And this was better than running.

"I do apologize for hurting your feelings," I said, hoping to soothe the hurt, even just a little.

"You didn't hurt my feelings," Rachel instantly replied. She flashed me a taste of that disarming smile, and I pursed my lips.

"Now you're lying," I said. "Careful, I might learn your bad behaviors."

She laughed, and I felt that it was genuine the second time. We both smiled.

"Thank you," Rachel said. "I don't know what I'm thanking you for. For sitting with me, maybe? For being different, maybe. I don't know. But just... thank you, Quinn."

"You don't have to do that," I said. "I'm here for a reason."

"Oh, really?" Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"I don't know," I said. "But, assuming that I ever figure it out, if it's all right to share, I'll tell you."

Unless I have to run away from you.

You might be dangerous.

I'm still afraid of you.

Quinn wants you, and I don't know why.

The voice told me to sit here.

You're not like the others.

I'm strangely drawn to you.

I think you might be important to me.

I think you might be a piece of my puzzle.

You burn me, and it hurts.

"Will you come to Glee rehearsal after school today?"

"I don't know."

"I'd very much like to have you there."

"We discussed this. I'm not a singer, Rachel."

"We discussed that I could teach you," Rachel continued. "And you confided in me that you can't lie, for whatever reason, so let me tell you a little something about Rachel Berry. I'm _very _persistent, and I have a tendency to get my way."

"You're quite confident."

"I am," Rachel said with another flash of a brilliant smile. "It's a necessary quality in someone who plans to end up on Broadway. So, Quinn Fabray, it appears that you need friends. Don't you?"

"I am new here, and have not made friends as of this particular moment. I wouldn't call it need, but I would like to eventually befriend at least one person here," I explained, hoping to make no confusion in my words. Although I knew what was necessary for survival, I fully intended on being somewhat selective.

I had hoped for a friend, though.

And the voice apparently wanted me to choose Rachel.

"Yes."

"So, I'll be your friend. And, since we're friends now, I'd very much like you to see something that is important to me. Very important. Won't you please come to Glee Club with me, Quinn?" Rachel asked, throwing out her bottom lip a little.

I felt my cheeks grow hot.

I didn't know what it meant.

She wasn't even touching me.

_Yes._

"Okay."

"Fantastic!" Rachel squealed, then jumped up and hugged me. I breathed in, smelling her perfume, soap, laundry detergent... it smelled like flowers.

It triggered a memory.

I didn't even mind that my skin was burning, crawling, making me ache from head to toe.

I barely felt it.

It triggered another memory.

I had another puzzle piece.

This was a good start.

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><p><strong>AN: Wow! Thanks for the great response for the first chapter. It's a little... out there, I realize, but I'm hoping that this second part will keep you all interested. Quinn is definitely very different, but just like her memory, each little bit will bring another piece of her story, her identity forward. You just have to pay attention to the details. As always, I'd love to know what you think! Reviews, comments, all are appreciated. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks again to everyone who is sticking with this story. It's going to get weirder, but I hope you all keep reading. I'm getting really into writing this. I'm kind of glad I wrote down the entirety of that dream, or I wouldn't have a clue where this was going. Thanks for the reviews, and please, keep them coming. I'm sort of treading new ground with this, so the comments, knowing what you like/don't like/etc really, really helps.**

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><p>The final bell rang loudly in my ears, and my History teacher wrapped up class with a few sentences that nobody heard over the sea of loud chattering. Everyone scrambled for the door; I waited for the herd to pass, then collected my books, organizing everything neatly before filing for the door.<p>

"Have a good evening," the teacher said to me. "See you in class tomorrow."

I nodded and exited the classroom, making my way down the crowded hallway and back to my locker. I filed my books, arranged the items I needed for homework into my book bag, and closed my locker.

I felt like I was working on automatic motions, going through the basic maneuvers needed to do what needed to be done, and was void of emotion. My motions were simple, perhaps, because internally, my mind was racing. Since lunch ended, the voice had gone back into hiding, and I'd learned to function on my own. There hadn't been any adventure, nothing big had happened. Everyone just kind of left me alone, which was boring, but preferable to conflict. Conflict was something I knew to avoid at all costs, especially after my little incident in Spanish class. I knew that behavior, intimidating and threatening glares and the like were completely frowned upon. I was supposed to be living a normal life. Whatever darkness built in me when that bully spoke up needed to be kept at bay.

I had never felt dangerous until that moment.

But in that moment, I felt a power in me growing, burning hot and just waiting to be released. I knew that I couldn't let it out. I couldn't indulge in such latent terrors. I couldn't slip up and bring out any monsters that were lurking inside of me. Because I was a stranger to the power, to my potential, and to my origin, I didn't know the full extent of my abilities, although I sensed they were damaging, lethal, perhaps.

I wished the voice had more answers to give me.

I wished I had more memories to bring about the answers for myself.

I wished I understood what was going on with Rachel.

Then I remembered. I was supposed to meet her in the choir room, for Glee rehearsal. I felt my stomach sink. This was something I was dreading, because even though I knew it was a positive outlet that might bring about opportunities for me, and I was aware that I, for whatever reason, needed to befriend Rachel Berry, stay close to her, I still felt wary around the girl.

I felt nervous.

I didn't know how to act, how to be, and what to do or say around her.

Even though my world had no axis, she had somehow managed to flip it completely upside down. And Quinn was incredibly fond of her.

Too fond, perhaps, which gave me more reason for concern. I still wasn't sure about Quinn, and could feel her presence growing in me. Even though she was what I thought to be a fake identity, I felt her like another person, living inside me, calling the shots and acting as puppeteer, even though I suspected that she wasn't really my primary identity.

I was the voice inside my own head, when the other one wasn't speaking up.

I felt the longing for my memories.

Quinn was a troublemaker, but she was the persona I had to use, for whatever reason. Perhaps she was just another part of me, and the real me was a Quinn. I didn't have the answers, and sent up a silent request that maybe soon, I could have some more.

Just a taste for my sanity. I didn't want to be greedy.

I found the choir room and entered hesitantly. There were already several other people inside. A boy with thick-rimmed glasses, a sweater vest, and a wheelchair was sitting in the center of the crowd, talking animatedly to a girl wearing dark clothing, dark makeup, and odd gloves with lots of holes in them. Behind them, a very well dressed, well-manicured boy sat next to a dark-skinned girl and they were writing something down in a notebook.

"Girl, please. You know I could sing that one better than Whitney," the dark-skinned girl said, holding up her hand in the boy's face. He laughed in a good-natured manner, but shook his head.

"Girl, Whitney owned that song. It practically created her iconic status," he replied. "You could _try _to perform that at Regionals in her style, but I just don't know that you've got _it._"

Her face fell, and she adopted a playful smirk.

"Kurt, I will _show _you 'it' and shove it up your white little behind," she said loudly, punctuating the threat with a huff and going back to scribbling in the notebook.

Quinn leaned against the door frame, surveying everyone, watching the room intently, keeping to the shadows. I felt her waiting. I felt her watching. She wanted to belong, to prove her worth, to become one of them.

I still wasn't sure.

A hand on my shoulder, tapping lightly, caused me to jump out of my skin, and I turned around fiercely, not sure of the look on my face until I saw Rachel's looking back at me. She looked terrified. She was shaking a little, and I felt heat rising to every pore of my body until I was certain steam was coming out of me. I closed my eyes, and made myself breathe.

"Rachel, I'm sorry..." I whispered, opening my eyes when I felt safer.

"I scared you," Rachel said, her voice trembling a little. "I won't sneak up on you again."

"I'm a little jumpy," I said apologetically. "Sometimes, I get really lost in my thoughts. You broke me out of them, but please don't feel bad. I shouldn't have... well, I'm not certain what I did that scared you so much."

Her face paled, and she looked at me curiously. Her eyes scanned every inch of my face, as if a stranger stood before her. She bit her bottom lip gently, then soothed it with her tongue and adopted that forced, false smile from before.

I knew it was fake.

I couldn't bring myself to call it out.

"It was nothing. Don't worry about it," Rachel said. "Really. Let's just find seats, okay?"

She reached down and gingerly touched my hand, as if I were made of glass. I felt the tingling start more gently than it ever had before. Perhaps my body was getting used to her touch, although there was still a little bit of pain. It felt like tiny sparks, like little flames pricking my skin instead of a full burning this time, but I didn't release her hand or request that she let go.

I let her lead me to two chairs in the front row, and sat down next to her. The boy in the wheelchair looked at us and smiled at Rachel. Then he looked back to me, questions etched on his face.

"New recruit, Rachel?" he asked.

"Oh. I don't know if she's decided to join yet. She says she's not really a singer, but I'm not convinced. I'm going to give her lessons," Rachel explained. Her hand was still clutching mine, and I think she realized it when she tried to gesture with both of her hands as she spoke and couldn't do it properly. She grinned at me sheepishly, and gently released me.

A chill ran over my prickling skin, and I felt soothed, but not relieved.

Just cold.

"Oh. Well, fair enough. Does she have a name?" he asked, mostly in my direction. His gaze was locked on me, and I felt that I had to speak up. It was rude to remain silent when spoken to.

"Quinn Fabray, no middle name."

"I'm Artie," he said, extending his hand. I looked at it, and felt nervous to take it.

Would he burn me like Rachel?

I stuck my hand out and shook his quickly, but felt nothing when our skin touched.

The girl with the strange gloves approached and took the seat next to where his chair was parked, then looked over at me.

"New girl?"

"Quinn Fabray," I said, offering my hand this time. She gave me a friendly smile and the fabric of her gloves scratched me when we shook hands.

"Tina," she said.

Why did they never use their last names as part of introductions? I pondered this question, trying to keep my face engaged and neutral as Rachel, Tina, and Artie began conversing. I wanted to look like I was listening, even though I was deep in thought. It was strange, how I had been instructed to use my first and last name in my introductions. Rachel introduced herself with her last name as well as her first. And the girl from this morning, at the lockers, well... she hadn't given a name at all.

Rachel and I were different.

Rachel wasn't as different as me, but she wasn't like them, either. I saw her as occupying some middle ground, and hoped for the smallest of moments that she was closer to my side than theirs.

"We're working on songs for Regionals right now, Quinn. The odds are a little stacked against us, because the competition is a little..." Rachel began, drawing me back into the conversation.

"Fierce," Artie finished. I bristled instantly; I wasn't at all sure that I liked him finishing her sentences and interrupting her like that. I looked at Rachel, expecting to see frustration or hurt of some kind, as she was walked over. Her words were poetry. His words were simplistic and so normal. I'd much prefer hearing her speak, always.

"Luckily, I thrive on fierce competition," Rachel concluded with a bright smile, as if she felt nothing from the interruption. She patted my hand, sparking the prickling sensation again. It was almost as if she knew my emotional change, the sparks in the magnetic field surrounding how quickly my instincts kicked in.

How quickly, how immediately I would move to protect her.

The lengths I'd go to put her back where she belonged.

On a pedestal, perhaps.

I was already starting to understand the special quality that Rachel Berry possessed. More people filtered into the room, headed by two boys in athletic jackets. One wore a strip of hair on the top of his head that I felt made him look like a skunk. The other was abnormally tall and had a clueless, sort of childlike smile on his face that made him look like a dreadfully simple creature. It was puzzling. I didn't watch too closely, but saw them take their seats, and watched another athletic type, a longer-haired blond boy followed and take a seat in the back row.

"How many people are in this club?" I asked. I started to feel nervous, surrounded, like their eyes were scanning me. Like they could sense that I didn't belong. Like I was fresh meat.

"Nearly everyone is here," Rachel explained. "Brittany and Santana are... almost always late. We don't really get into their business, mostly because none of us really want to know what they're off doing."

A tall Asian boy walked into the room, grabbed Tina's hand when they met, and they sat together near the back. I watched them exchange smiles and a chaste kiss, then turned my eyes away.

Rachel released my hand again, and it was only when I felt the cold that I realized that she had still been touching me. The tingling feeling subsided halfway through, or perhaps it was due to distractions that I barely registered the pain.

I was becoming comfortable, or at least that was how it felt, being in close proximity to Rachel. At least, my hands were becoming accustomed to her touch. I thought for a moment if that would apply to the rest of me, but decided not to dwell on thoughts of the brunette's touch.

Those types of thoughts seemed inappropriate.

I barely knew her, after all.

I had learned of intimacy. I read about it. I saw it frequently. I saw it in movies, on television. I had used these things to study modern society, since I had a limited comparison basis in my current perspective. I understood that it was common for young people, especially in the later adolescent ages, in high school, particularly, to want intimate relations with another person.

I just found that I was disinterested.

I didn't have those longings.

I didn't know how to long for such things.

And I wasn't sure I wanted to keep another person so close.

In time, maybe it would become necessary to pretend, but for now, I didn't pay it any mind.

Rachel shuffled in her seat, placing her hands in her lap, and I opened my mouth to continue our conversation. I found myself at a loss. I missed hearing her voice. I had started to thoroughly enjoy the way she made words sound. There was something delicate about the most basic things in her, and I was captivated.

But the tall, dopey looking boy walked up to her and greeted her with a broad smile. I sat up a little straighter.

What did he want?

"Hey, Rachel," he said.

I was unimpressed. What a conversationalist, indeed.

"Hello, Finn," Rachel replied gently.

"So, I've been thinking that maybe we should start working together on duets. You know, for Regionals."

"If you make a list of song choices, I'd be happy to look them over and get back to you with ones that appear to be adequate. Although, as always, I do ask that you choose songs that stray from classic rock. I can sing just about anything, but I just don't think that genre has any edge to give us."

Finn shoved his hands in his pockets.

"But that's my jam," he whined.

I tried my best not to laugh.

"I apologize, but we need to be at our best. Would you prefer I came up with a list for you to peruse?" Rachel asked.

"Um, sure?" he said, raising his voice in question. Rachel smiled, then nodded.

He took the empty seat on the other side of her, and I glared at him. He was sitting a little too close, and even though her eyes were straight ahead, he hadn't stopped staring at her.

"Rachel," I whispered.

She turned to me and smiled gently.

"Yes, Quinn?"

"Why is that boy staring at you?"

"Oh, that's just Finn. He's a friend of mine," she whispered, then leaned in a little closer and lowered her voice further. "We used to date, but it just didn't work out. Not compatible. You know how those things go."

"No, I actually don't," I whispered.

I felt a surge of pain in my heart, and my headache from before started up again. I pressed my thumb to my temple and closed my eyes hard for a second, hoping to chase some of it away.

"Quinn, are you okay?" Rachel asked, and the concern was back. I felt a lightness at her tone. Somehow, the concern she felt for me felt amazing. It felt like floating gently on a breeze. The fact that she cared sent something through me that I wasn't entirely familiar with, but it wasn't unwelcome. It also didn't stop my headache.

"Rachel, who's your friend?" the boy asked loudly. My temple throbbed harder.

I really didn't like his tone.

"Finn, would you just hold on?" Rachel asked sharply, then turned back to me. She put her hand on my leg, and I winced from the pain.

That _really _hurt.

"I just want to introduce myself to the new girl, since she's hanging around Glee club. You know, we're kind of like a family," he protested.

"Just leave her alone for a second, okay?" Rachel said, a little louder. Surprisingly, the volume of her voice didn't make my headache worse.

The room grew quieter.

People were starting to stare. Conversations grew quiet, and I could feel their eyes on us. Waiting. Watching. Whispering. I could hear it all, in great, amplified detail. I cracked my neck, feeling the bones give, and looked back at Rachel. I searched for those brown eyes, and held onto them like they would save my soul.

Maybe they would, for all I knew.

She held me for a moment, her eyes locked on mine, and I took a deep breath. I felt my temple stop throbbing. She removed her hand, and the pain in my leg grew to a dull ache, a mere remnant of what came before.

I turned to the boy sitting on Rachel's other side.

"My name is Quinn Fabray," I said, realizing that my voice was lower, huskier than before. I didn't have the practiced gentility that I was supposed to have. I sounded rough, ragged... like a complete stranger. Like someone who wasn't me. Like someone who wasn't anything I'd ever known.

"Finn Hudson," he said, extending a giant hand in my direction. I felt threatened. I did not shake his hand. "I'm the Quarterback here at McKinley, and the lead male in Glee Club."

"Good for you," I said, still not impressed. I glared at his hand, and finally, he lowered it. His smile fell. I looked in his eyes. They were vacant, not sinister, not mean, just empty. I wasn't sure that I liked this Finn Hudson. And I was even less sure about wanting him close to Rachel.

I paused, and focused on my breathing. The conversations started to pick back up, still quiet, but some of the attention we had earned before seemed to be slightly diverted now.

"Quinn's thinking about joining Glee Club. I'm going to give her voice lessons, though. She's a little insecure about the singing bit, but I think she'll do just fine," Rachel said to Finn. "I think she'll be a great addition."

"Nobody's as good a singer as you, Rachel," Finn said. "I mean, Santana's pretty good, and Mercedes has R&B covered, but you... you're amazing."

"What about me?" a loud, commanding voice said from the doorway.

I recognized that voice.

I felt cold.

I looked up, finding brown eyes that were darker than they were this morning. They looked at me, stared deep, and made me feel like I was nothing.

My temple throbbed again.

I could hear Quinn screaming.

"Hey, new girl," she purred, just like before. The blonde girl stayed close to her heels as she made her way toward me. "Decided to join Glee Club? Who said you were welcome here?"

"I did," Rachel said, more confidently than I would have expected her to be against this girl.

"Shut up, Berry," she spat. Then, she plastered a sweet smile on her face, although I could see the menace just underneath it. I could smell her poison. She leaned in, moving purposefully so Rachel couldn't hear, and whispered in my ear. "First day was eventful for you, huh? I heard about Spanish class today, what you did to Karofsky? You scared him shitless, girl. Nobody scares Karofsky. I couldn't hear much past all his bitch baby bawling, but the big lug kept saying you were some kind of alien freak. Something's not all right with you, and I'm going to find out what it is, trust."

Rachel stood up, and looked up at the other brunette. I saw fire in Rachel. I saw strength, but saw that she quickly cowered when the other girl moved closer to her face.

"Leave her alone, Santana," Rachel said.

I felt my vision blur, and thought back to her words. To her threats. Was I different? Was something really wrong with me?

What had I done?

What was I?

I was a human, wasn't I?

I didn't know. I couldn't remember.

Quinn kept screaming, and I could hear loud noises ripping my head to shreds.

"What the fuck are you thinking, gettin' up in my grill, Hobbit?" I heard the girl, Santana, yell at Rachel. I looked up just in time to see Santana put her hands on Rachel's shoulders. That was enough. I jumped up from my seat, causing the chair to topple over, and made my way over to where both girls stood. I placed a protective arm in front of Rachel and stood tall, looking the other girl directly in the eyes.

I felt hot.

I felt like I was glowing.

"You're going to go sit down, and you're going to leave Rachel alone," I growled.

"Or what, Freakazoid?"

She was taunting me.

I felt every muscle in my body tense, then release. I felt my fists ball up.

I felt Rachel tugging on the sleeve of my shirt.

"Quinn, don't antagonize her. She's just a bully, let's just sit back down. Mr. Schue will be in soon," Rachel said.

"Leave her alone," I said again, never breaking my eye contact with Santana.

I barely breathed. I didn't blink.

"I'm going to find out what's up with you, and when I do, you're done," Santana threatened. "Come on, Britts."

She held her pinky out for the other girl, and I saw the blonde walk over to her, lace their pinkies, and then follow Santana toward two seats in the back. The blonde offered me an apologetic smile as she passed.

I looked back at Rachel, who was still clutching my sleeve. I looked at everyone else behind her, and saw looks of shock all around. Jaws hung open, eyes were wide, a couple people were just staring forward, like they had seen something crazy.

Maybe they had.

I didn't know what I had done.

I didn't know what I could do.

Quinn had finally stopped screaming, but my head still fired back up, throbbing dully like a slowing heartbeat.

Like a dying body.

I looked at Rachel, saw her hopeful eyes, and took a step back.

I forced her to release me.

I looked at her once more.

_Don't run._

"I have to go," I apologized.

"Quinn, it's okay, just stay," Rachel said. "She's always a bitch like that. It's her idea of fun or something. Don't let her get to you."

Rachel's voice was quieter as she stepped toward me. She placed her hand on my forearm, and the pain was so intense that I felt like I might pass out.

"Don't touch me!" I snarled, then turned and ran out of the choir room. The door slammed behind me.

I ran, and kept running, feeling the floor scrape and lift up the bottoms of my shoes as I ran. It was liberating.

I didn't stop running.

I couldn't.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: You guys are amazing! I'm glad that the strangeness of this story hasn't lost you all. I confess, I'm getting kind of addicted to writing it. I may have spent all day at work today storyboarding in my free time. So, I officially have this entire thing planned out. Yay! However, I know I still have another WIP story, so for those of you who read "Concrete Jungle" that update will be up by tomorrow or Tuesday morning at the VERY latest. But if you're here, you've come to read a story, so I'm going to shut the hell up and let you get to reading. Please keep up with the great reviews. Seriously, it helps me so much. I love to know what you guys are thinking, especially with something like this. With that said, enjoy the next chapter.  
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><p><em>Rain pounded heavily on metal walls that seemed to extend endlessly, and the sound echoed from every corner of the vast space. The room was giant; there were no windows, no visible doors. It felt like a prison. <em>

_Quinn sat in the middle of the floor, clutching her knees to her chest. She was wearing a white uniform, sleeveless and fitted, with long, flowing pants. It was comfortable, but she was anything but despite the clothing her captors had chosen._

"_Hello?" she called. _

_Nobody answered. Her voice echoed, bouncing off the walls until they rebounded back and hit her eardrums. _

"_Is anybody out there? Please, anybody?" she called again, a little louder this time. Her voice broke with the use, almost as if she hadn't spoken in a very long time. A whirring sound started, battling the sound of the rain. The pitch was low, almost inaudible before it grew louder, ending in a volume that was painful to her sensitive hearing. She blinked, and began rubbing sand and grit from her eyes. She saw the wall directly in front of her moving. A window appeared behind it, and two people stood just beyond the space, shadowed so she could only make out their silhouettes, but couldn't see any determining factors that would clue her in to their identities. _

_From what she could see, even though she sensed her vision was unreliable, she could make out that they were both taller than what she knew of average female height. Their shoulders were broad, and they were speaking to one another.  
><em>

"_This is Subject 22-B," one of the people, a male voice, spoke over an intercom. Quinn looked around frantically, trying to find the source of the sound. No speakers were visible, but she could hear one of the men speaking all around her. Surround sound. Someone had put a lot of money into this prison. _

"_What is her purpose?" a new male voice spoke up._

"_Classified," the first voice said. "But she's gone through both stages of the Alpha Phase remarkably well. We lose so many subjects before the first waves of testing are even complete. She's very strong."_

"_Well, Marcus put a lot of work in on this one, from what I've heard," the second voice said. "I understood he was solely responsible for her birth."_

"_I'm afraid I can't confirm that," the first voice replied._

_Quinn shuddered. He sounded cold. _

_The other chuckled, and she felt a sense of dread. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tightly around her knees. She began to rock back and forth, hoping and wishing that it would go away. That they would stop watching her. That they would stop talking and just leave her alone. That she could go back to sleep and avoid whatever horrible things she felt they wanted with her. _

"_So, she's not for sale," the second man asked, although it seemed he already knew the answer. _

"_22-B is special. She's not for sale," the first man replied quickly. It was an immediate response, almost rehearsed. Almost as if he had been asked this question many times. _

"_She's Marcus' last creation," the second man stated. "Of course she's special. Has she already started developing?"_

"_22-B hasn't yet come into her abilities. We've been monitoring her time-line, watching her progression. She's had routine health checks. Everything still seems normal. She should be making great strides by now, but we're patient," the first man explained._

"_She seems... aware of her surroundings," the second said._

_Quinn looked up, directly toward the glass. She felt her body tremble. She felt the heat rising. Her face started sweating. _

_She was angry. _

"_I can hear you in there!" she yelled. _

_Laughter was all that greeted her._

"_So she is aware," the second man continued. "That's new. Don't you normally drug them?"_

"_We do as Marcus tells us with this one," the first man replied. "He has very specific orders."_

"_What do you want with me?" Quinn asked, feeling bold. If she was so special, maybe they owed her answers. Maybe they would tell her something. Maybe she was just asking the wrong questions. "Who are you?"_

_The laughter continued._

"_She's feisty," the second man stated. "I like that in a woman."_

"_22-B isn't just a woman. Hell, she's barely a woman. Make no mistake, she's still one of ours."_

"_Understood."_

_Quinn swallowed hard, then tried a new technique._

"_If you don't let me out of here, I'll hunt you down and rip you limb from limb," she growled menacingly. She felt the anger. She felt... powerful._

_She banged against the wall, causing her knuckles to bleed instantly from the sheer force she put behind the blow. Once she saw the result of her impulsive actions, she became fascinated by the steady red stream trickling down her hand._

"_Call a medic," the first man said calmly. "We can't allow for any injuries."  
><em>

"_Wow," the second man began, impressed. "Instant care. She **is **special."_

"_You have no idea."_

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><p>I woke up, gasping for air. I looked down at my hands, expecting to see blood. They were normal; pristine, even. I looked them over, front and back, expecting to see something that would define my dream. It felt like so much more than a dream. I had to be sure. My mind was no stranger to tricks.<p>

It felt like a memory.

I looked at the back of my hands, analyzing every crease, every line, every ridge and bump. Then I saw it: a thin, almost invisible scar between the first and second knuckles on my right hand. The same place that had bled in my dream. I traced it with my left index finger. I smiled.

It was a memory.

But what did it mean?

_22-B._

I filed that information away in a gap of my memory, hoping that it wouldn't be erased. That it was okay to keep. Sometimes, when my dreams brought back memories, they faded, even if I tried to hold on to them. I wondered if whatever controlled the voice, whoever it was, was erasing them. Waiting until that piece was ready to be revealed, in case I had found out prematurely.

I rubbed my eyes, then blinked, allowing my vision to adjust as I continued to wake. I was in my bedroom. I had fallen asleep after running from school. I had literally run the entire distance. I had left my vehicle in the parking lot. I groaned outwardly.

I'd have to go back and get it.

I wasn't used to having a vehicle.

I'd never owned one before.

Assuming I came from that metal cage, from that prison room, it was unlikely that I got around in a car of my own. It was unlikely that I did much on my own.

So what was I?

A slave?

A prisoner?

My head felt normal again instead of the ballooned, painful throbbing that I had experienced earlier. In the choir room. During Glee Club. In front of all those people.

With Rachel.

_Rachel. You need to talk to Rachel. _

"I know!" I screamed, wondering if the voice would hear me. It rarely responded when I cried out, when I questioned, when I let my emotions show. I felt that it was a one-sided relationship. It could dictate, it could give directions, it would tell me what to do, but it never, ever heard my responses.

It didn't care about my cries for help.

It didn't recognize my desperation.

Maybe it didn't even care about me.

Maybe nobody did.

Then I thought back to the dream, trying to piece together any seemingly insignificant traces that I could file away with my number, my true identity, from my assumptions.

Marcus.

I had to remember Marcus.

He certainly seemed important.

I climbed out of bed, finding that I was still in my clothes from before. I hadn't changed. I had probably exhausted myself with running and passed out as soon as I reached the comfort of my fortress. I had chosen a secluded neighborhood, as per the voice's directions, that was fairly unoccupied and away from the main sections of town.

My apartment was a good ten miles from the school.

And I had to go back.

I felt the ache in my leg muscles, but I knew I was in good shape. I had never experienced any difficulty from running. Even the longest of distances.

I laced up my sneakers and changed into a tank top.

I headed to the kitchen and drained an entire bottle of water.

I shoved my keys into my pocket and ran out the door, making sure to lock my front door behind me.

I ran all the way back to the high school. I didn't expect Rachel to be there. I had been asleep for a few hours, at the very least. Not counting how long it would take me to run there and back.

I felt the burn in my legs around the third mile. Or maybe it was the fourth. I wasn't really sure.

I kept to the bike lanes, trying to look like any jogger would, and made it possibly to mile five before a horn started honking behind me.

I turned around.

I wanted to curse at whoever was getting in my way, although it was more likely that I was in theirs, bike lane or no.

I saw brown eyes through the front windshield.

I witnessed an awkward wave.

I stopped dead in my tracks and sank forward, placing my hands on my knees and fighting to regulate my breathing as the car rolled up to me.

Quinn beamed. She was excited for this encounter.

I felt unsteady, uprooted, unsure of what this meeting would entail. What needed to be said, really? I hadn't exactly left on the best terms. I knew that.

I had seen the fear in Rachel's face once before, and then I caused it a second time.

"Quinn," Rachel called to me, window rolled down.

I looked over to her and offered a nervous smile.

"What are you doing?"

"Running," I answered simply.

"You haven't had enough running for one day?" Rachel asked. I didn't answer. I sensed it was a barb, a dagger and a reference to how I had left rehearsal before it had even started.

Even when she begged me to stay.

Even though I sensed honesty and truth in her, felt safe with her, felt that she would protect me if I needed it.

"I'm trying to learn sports, remember?" I tried, hoping this would be a logical enough excuse. Maybe she'd think I had a quirky sense of humor.

Maybe she wouldn't be mad.

"Well, rehearsal was terrible today," Rachel said. "Everyone was talking about you. We didn't get anything done. I left early and picked up groceries. I was just headed home, actually. Have you eaten?"

Why was she still being nice to me?

Was there a voice in her head directing her, too?

Was it as insistent as mine?

"No," I said.

I wanted to lie.

I couldn't lie.

Only Quinn could lie.

"Would you like to come have dinner with me?" Rachel asked.

"I can't," I said. "I have homework."

It wasn't a lie; I did have homework.

"So do I."

I didn't have a response for that. She had successfully destroyed my one and only excuse. I stood there, silent, and resorted to staring at her.

"So, would you like to have dinner with me?"

"I have to get my car," I replied as soon as the next excuse hit me.

"That's not a problem!" she said cheerfully. "I can take you by the school, get your car, and then you can follow me back to my house."

"Won't your... won't your parents think it's odd that you're bringing a stranger home?"

Most people did have parents. I was the different one. The orphan.

A seventeen year old girl with no parents.

At least, that was the story I was supposed to be telling.

I didn't feel seventeen. Not really.

But then again, I didn't even really know what seventeen was supposed to feel like. I didn't know what _any _age was supposed to feel like.

"I have two dads," she explained. "They love to entertain, and they'll be happy to hear that I'm finally making nice friends at school."

"I'm a nice friend?" I asked.

Was I? My story was working?

Perhaps I was managing better than I thought, despite my few obvious transgressions that had people like Santana on my scent.

She wanted to figure out what I was hiding. Part of me wanted to wish her good luck, because I lived in my body and didn't even know what I was hiding.

I was just as much a stranger to myself as I was to everyone else.

Except, apparently, to Rachel, who didn't seem to find me strange at all.

I had read that it was a big deal to trust someone enough to invite them into your home. Either Rachel was desperate for friendship so much that she was willing to settle for mine, or she trusted me.

I wasn't sure which option sounded better.

"I like you," Rachel said. "Even when you're running away. And I'm not mad about that. I kind of get it, really. Santana is a lot to handle on any day, but on your first day? I probably would have run away, too."

"I don't like her," I said simply. Rachel laughed and smiled.

"I don't, either."

"And I don't like that gangly looking boy."

"Finn?"

"Was that his name?"

I tried not to think about him. I wasn't sure about the insignificant details. He was a giant insignificant detail, in my opinion.

"Yeah. It's okay if you don't like him. I won't hold it against you, but he's really not that bad."

"I don't see myself ever liking him," I continued.

"That's fine," Rachel said. She kept smiling. It didn't bother her. "Are you going to get in this car or not?"

I shoved my hands in my pocket.

I needed another excuse.

I wasn't prepared for this.

"I'm sweaty."

"If it bothers you that much, you could shower at my house, and I'll round up something for you to wear. You might have to wear something of my dad's, but he won't mind. Personal hygiene is next to Godliness in my house," Rachel assured me.

"I don't want to impose."

"For the hundredth time, Quinn, you're not imposing," Rachel said. Her eyebrow twitched. "Are you going to get in the car, or do I have to beg? I told you that I frequently get my way."

My excuses had run out.

_Go with her._

I could practically feel Quinn dancing for joy. The voice was getting what it wanted, too. Rachel was waiting expectantly for my answer. I was the only one in this equation with insecurities.

As usual, I stood alone.

"I'll need to use your shower. I don't want to eat if I'm not clean," I said.

"Understood," Rachel said, her smile growing. "I will make the necessary arrangements for you."

"Just dinner?"

Rachel's eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed in thought.

"We'll renegotiate the conditions of your stay after dinner," Rachel said with a smirk.

"Wait, excuse me? Renegotiate?"

She was bold. I wasn't sure that I liked it.

There was the lightness in my heart that I had felt before, but this time, it came laced with conflict. So much in me was contradicting itself. I knew Rachel was dangerous, I knew the effect she had on me, and yet I felt compelled to follow her. To make her happy. To do as the voice said. To let Quinn have her way, because Quinn wanted so badly to be close to this girl in ways I didn't understand.

"Get in the car, Quinn," Rachel said, then rolled up her window to end our conversation. I walked around to the other side of her car and got in the passenger seat.

"It'll just be the two of us and my dad tonight. My other dad is working late," Rachel explained. "But don't worry. Now that we're friends, I'm sure you'll meet him sooner or later."

"Okay."

"You seem uncomfortable. Are you okay?" Rachel asked. "I can be sort of forceful sometimes. If you don't really want to come, I'll still take you to get your car, and then you can just go home to... do homework."

The car began moving, and I pondered my new way out.

I could easily go home. She wouldn't force me to stay with her.

I considered my options. I could go home to my empty apartment in my secluded little hideaway and do homework that would likely take me an hour, maybe two, and then sit alone and watch television or read. I would have silence, my own thoughts, and maybe the voice.

Or I could be with Rachel.

I could have a glimpse into her world.

She was offering me that glimpse, and she seemed like she really, really wanted me to see it.

I didn't have to stand on the outside and wonder what it was like to be a normal teenage girl. Even if I wasn't one, I had an opportunity to try.

If I went home, I'd be 22-B, whoever that was.

If I stayed with Rachel, I could be someone else. Someone that she liked. Someone I was creating. I kept the name Quinn because I had to, but I was being the girl that lived on the inside, who lurked within the cracks of 22-B and Quinn and the puppet to the voice that fired directions at me and tried to control my every move.

Maybe I didn't have the answers.

Maybe I didn't really need them.

Maybe I could see the world on my own.

"I'll go back to your home with you."

Rachel squealed with excitement, then apologized quickly for the outburst.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"All my life, I always wished for a friend. A real friend. Someone to take home to dinner, to talk to, to share my secrets with. I feel like I could have that with you," Rachel said, and I could hear the emotion building in her voice.

I didn't know how to deal with that sort of emotion, so I stayed quiet and let her continue with her speech.

"I don't know about your past, and maybe you're a little different, but I don't care. I'm different, too. I've always had a good sense about people, Quinn, and I see a beautiful heart and a beautiful soul in you. The kindness you've shown me in just one day is more than I've known in a lifetime. Except from my dads," Rachel continued. "I hope that's not too... heavy. I'm verbose, and kind of tend toward the over-dramatic, but my words are sincere, I promise."

"Rachel, it's okay," I said. "It doesn't bother me. You should say what you feel. Never give up that freedom. Not for anyone."

We pulled into the school parking lot, and my car was one of the only ones left in the lot. Rachel pulled into the space next to it and parked. She kept the engine running and looked at me, like she expected something. Like she wanted something, but didn't know how to ask for it. Which was stunning, since one thing I did know about Rachel was that her words were frequent and effortless.

"Did you need something?"

"Not need, no," Rachel said.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

She stayed quiet, and looked down.

"You told me not to touch you earlier," Rachel said. "Did I do something wrong? I've always known that once I had a friend, I'd be overly affectionate. I can stop, if it makes you uncomfortable. Does it?"

Yes.

I closed my eyes and asked for Quinn.

I felt her smile. She was warm, convincing. She was what Rachel needed in that moment.

"No, it doesn't make me uncomfortable, Rachel. Just took me by surprise, that's all. Warn me next time you spring it on me, okay?"

"Noted."

I shook my head, and Quinn was gone.

Rachel seemed happy.

"Thanks for taking me to my car."

"It was no trouble, really. I actually only live a few blocks from here."

I unbuckled my seat belt and paused my hand on the door. Rachel watched me intently. I could sense her insecurity. I could sense that she still wasn't sure if I would run again. I still wasn't sure that I wouldn't run again.

But this time, I would try not to.

"I'm going to follow you to your house, okay?"

"Okay, Quinn."

I kept my hand on the car door. Her insecurity was still strong, stagnant. Overpowering.

"I'm going to exit your car now."

"Okay."

"I'm going to get in my car, and when you leave this parking lot, I'll be right behind you."

She sighed.

"Okay."

I felt some of the insecurities fade. I turned and smile, then opened the car door. I got out, closed the door behind me, and walked over to her side of the vehicle. I watched her watching me, and then, when her face was fully turned to greet mine, I moved my finger up to the window, touching it in the general vicinity of where her nose was, even though she wasn't pressed against the window. She smiled. She knew what I was doing.

I didn't.

I acted on instinct.

I turned quickly and got in my car. I started the engine, and she pulled out of her parking space.

I turned on my engine, and watched her look behind her shoulder. There were two giant pieces of metal between us, along with a decent amount of distance, but I still saw her eyes meeting mine, clear as day.

I followed her.

For the rest of the ride, I never saw her eyes again. I got the sense that she knew that when I said I'd follow, I would.

If she needed to be caught, I'd catch her.

If she needed someone, I'd be there.

I had earned her trust.

Now I just needed to learn what to do with it.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: You guys are AMAZING. Really, just wonderful. I'm so glad to read that this story isn't coming off as strange and off the beaten path as I had originally suspected it would be. Although, I know I've confused some of you. It's okay if you don't know what's going on just yet. It's going to be a slow build-up, but I promise to leave PLENTY of clues along the way. With that being said, here's the next part, and... well, it's heating up a little bit. As always, I'd love to know what you think, so if you'd be so kind to drop me a review, a comment, or anything, I read each and every word you guys write back, and it really helps me continue this story. Thanks again, and please enjoy.**

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><p>Originally, I had been concerned that I wouldn't be able to be "normal" within the confines of a truly normal household. I had agonized over it on the drive from the school to Rachel's house, wondering how long it would take her and her father to catch on to the fact that her new friend was a wolf in sheep's clothing. Or something along those lines. I had learned a few things about myself in my few months as a member of human society, at least, the time I was conscious of. One of those things was that I was very excitable, and under the right circumstances, could become violent. Or threatening.<p>

Spanish class had been a close call. Karofsky, the kid that I latched onto, had obviously been rattled by whatever transpired between him and Quinn, and whatever Rachel saw when she startled me in the choir room hadn't been kindly. I shuddered every time I recalled that look on her face, like all the color had been drained out of it. All the light had fallen from her eyes, every star knocked loose until only a black void remained. I knew that she knew she was looking at something not quite normal, not quite kindly and gentle, as she wanted me to be. Perhaps as she was pretending I was.

That was Quinn. The darkness in me. The primal, commanding undertone that watched my every move, who could lie on command, who could protect me when necessary. Even though Quinn was the identity the voice gave me in actuality, I didn't feel like a Quinn.

I was 22-B.

I was a hapless prisoner.

I was something else.

I'd keep Quinn's name, but until she was needed, I'd do my best to keep her locked in her cage. When I first became self-aware, I read a lot. I studied, learning about social graces and current events, about psychology and science and history. I read about Freudian theory, and knew that Quinn, or _my _Quinn, was all id. All primal. All emotion. She was a dangerous and useful thing because of it, but like with any emotion, I felt she was to be utilized sparingly.

Me, however, I barely felt emotion.

I was logic.

I was reason.

I am questions with no answers.

I am trying so hard to evolve, to continue learning, to belong.

I am going to work my ass off to be normal.

I crossed the threshold to Rachel's house and looked around, giving a compliment to the charming decoration her parents had chosen, as was customary. Although, it wasn't a lie, since I couldn't lie. Everything was neatly placed, color-coordinated, and accented with family photographs and other little tidbits—a piano in the middle of the foyer and a reading area in the living room—that made it feel like a home, not just a house.

My house had necessities, but wasn't warm. It didn't have accents of family, of tradition, of customs and beliefs and feeling.

My apartment was logic and reason, too.

My apartment was unanswered questions, concern, and riddled with enough safety precautions, all remote-accessible, to make it something not unlike Fort Knox.

Safety first. That was the first piece of advice I got from the voice.

_Always be safe, so you won't be sorry._

"And this is the kitchen," Rachel said as she directed me to the next room. Her father was busy chopping vegetables and tending to a skillet on the stove. Spices and bold, robust flavors assaulted my senses as I walked into the room. It was slightly warmer in temperature than the rest of the house, but not unpleasantly so. The entire house was warm in a welcoming way. The food, which I had read was a staple of human society, smelled delicious, and I felt my stomach rumble.

I smiled at Rachel.

She really was kind, a good person.

The voice had done well to lead me to her, I decided.

"And this voiceless figure slaving over a hot stove is my father," Rachel announced. The man turned, offering me a smile that must have been genetic, for it was the same as Rachel's. This man's eyes were a sharp, striking blue, and what was left of the hair on top of his head was short, dark, and fell in tight curls. He pushed up a round pair of glasses and set down his wooden spoon, wiping his hand on a kitchen towel before offering it to me.

"Hello, young lady," he greeted kindly. "Rachel didn't tell me we were having a dinner guest tonight. I would have worn my nice apron."

I shook his hand and met his gaze, hoping he would see the same kindness in my eyes that I saw in his. Although, I didn't know if there was kindness to be found in my eyes. And if there wasn't, I hoped that he would see nothing at all.

"I'm Quinn Fabray," I said, introducing myself.

He kept his hold on my hand and studied me.

I tried not to wilt under his gaze, even though I was horribly self-conscious about what he was seeing. What he was thinking. What he expected of me.

I read that fathers were very protective of their daughters, for the most part, as a feat of nature. Rachel had two fathers, so maybe that meant they shared the duty, adding in some of the maternal qualities of a mother. However, since Rachel was different than what I had witnessed in other young people our age, I suspected that they would perhaps be more protective of her. I wouldn't blame them, really.

"I'm Jacob," he replied. "Berry, but that's probably obvious, isn't it?"

"Quinn just moved here from Boston, Daddy," Rachel said, walking over to me and placing a hand on my shoulder when her father released me. I tried not to wince, so I followed a close alternative by forcing a bright smile.

"Boston? Really? What brings you here from Boston?" Jacob asked. "Lima is... quite a change of pace, I imagine."

_Quinn, help._

"It's tragic circumstance, I'm afraid," Quinn spoke clearly. "Not polite dinner conversation, really... but yes, Lima is quite a change."

She smiled at Rachel fondly.

I wondered if it was sincere.

"I'm thinking it was a change for the better, actually."

She moved her hand lower to grab Rachel's and give it a gentle squeeze when Jacob's eyes passed to her and not where she was touching his daughter.

"That's wonderful, although I'm sorry to hear it wasn't under better circumstances," Jacob said sympathetically. "Do you mind my asking what happened?"

"My parents passed when I was very young. I barely have any memory of them," Quinn began, weaving the story we had practiced a thousand times and telling it in a much more poetic manner than I ever could. "But I was adopted and cared for by this lovely elderly woman, and she was who I lived with in Boston. She passed recently, too, and I inherited a large sum of money from her estate. However, as you can probably understand, I couldn't stay in Boston... no family, no ties, and too many memories, so I did some research on places to stay and decided that small-town living was more my style."

"I'm so sorry, Quinn," Jacob said again. "That has to be quite difficult. I'm sorry to have brought it up. That's quite rude of me, and we've barely met!"

"No, please don't apologize," Quinn said. "I try to be something of an open book. You know, where I can. Every girl has to have her secrets."

Rachel grinned, as if she understood completely.

"Ah, I understand," Jacob said, raising a hand. "Not personally, and not... in some regards, since I've always been a lover of the male species, but raising a teenage daughter has been an eye-opening experience."

"Oh, you drama queen, it hasn't been _that _bad," Rachel teased. Jacob looked at his daughter with gentle eyes and moved across the kitchen, planting a kiss on her forehead, then patting her on the top of her head.

"No, it's been a blessing and a joy, sweetheart," Jacob replied. "At least, most of the time. When you aren't throwing tantrums."

"Daddy... not in front of Quinn," Rachel whined. Quinn laughed, bringing herself in to the joking atmosphere.

I was impressed. She was adapting quite easily. She was a master at this.

"Sorry, dear," Jacob apologized. He crossed back to the stove and stirred the contents of the skillet, then added the vegetables he had finished chopping. "Quinn, I'm sorry that my husband couldn't join us tonight. He's working late, as usual, but if Rachel lets us know ahead of time when you're planning to be over next, I can request his presence here as well. I'm sure he'd love to meet you."

"Well, you have a lovely family. I saw the pictures in the hallway."

"Thank you, Quinn," Jacob beamed. "Now, I won't take up any more of your time. I'm just a boring old guy making dinner. Why don't you two go upstairs and do whatever it is teenage girls do... discuss boys and make-up? And I'll call you when the feast is ready."

"I resent that. My conversations are quite intellectual, despite my age," Rachel scoffed, crossing her arms and stomping her foot a little.

"Careful, Rach. No temper tantrums," Quinn teased lightly.

Jacob cackled and turned to Quinn, pointing gleefully in her directions.

"This one, she's a keeper," Jacob said to his daughter, who just smiled, then laced her finger's with Quinn's.

"I knew you'd love her, Daddy."

"Good call," Jacob said with a wink. "Now scoot. Talk about Shakespeare, young intellectual minds. Away with you!"

Rachel giggled, then dragged Quinn upstairs by the hand.

I felt relief from the burning, as I couldn't feel it when Quinn was in control. But I couldn't feel Rachel, either, and I found that even though it was pleasant not to feel the pain from her touch, I missed the warmth of her skin and the feel of her company.

Inside my head, it felt alone.

I asked to trade places, and felt the prickles in my palm when Quinn shifted to the back-burner and relinquished her controls. I smiled.

It was so worth it.

Rachel opened her bedroom door, then released my hand to motion me inside. I looked at the pink canopy bed in the center, the dusky pink walls, the gold star borders at the top. The whimsical nature that seemed to encompass the space.

"I know, it's still kind of... child-like, but I've already started browsing paint swatches to do a little revamping. Although I'm fully invested in the gold stars. They're sort of a metaphor for my inevitable stardom."

"I wasn't going to ridicule you," I replied.

"You weren't?" Rachel asked, shocked. "I mean, I've found that most people, while a good number aren't bold enough to say it outright, have quite the... opinion about the state of my room. Kurt went as far as to say that he felt like Chris Hansen was going to pop out of my closet at any time."

"Chris Hansen?"

"The pedophile catcher on television," Rachel explained. "Although strangely, Finn didn't seem to be bothered when we rounded first base. Perhaps that should have been a red flag."

I felt Quinn's presence immediately, and forced her down.

"Let's not talk about Finn, okay?"

Rachel nodded and sat down on her bed. She sat with her hands neatly in her lap, and looked at me.

"I'm sorry if I seem a little awkward. I don't mean to be making you uncomfortable," Rachel apologized, watching me carefully, silently noting that I had kept my distance, and still lingered near the door.

It wasn't that I was trying to stay away from her, it was that I didn't know how to behave. This situation was bordering on intimate for me, and even though I already felt a strange, almost magnetic pull to the dark-haired girl sitting in the middle of her obnoxious pink bed, I didn't know what came next.

I didn't understand how the steps worked to this elaborate dance of being human.

Even if I was human.

And I still wasn't sure that I was.

I called for Quinn again, and it almost unnerved me at how eager she was to take the lead. She walked over to the bed and sat next to Rachel, dangerously close... way closer than I would have chosen. But that was Quinn's prerogative, apparently, and I had given up control.

"I'm new to this, too," Quinn said.

She wasn't lying. I felt relieved.

"You?" Rachel asked. "But you seem so together, and you've got such a way with words. My dad was near to eating out of the palm of your hand, I swear."

"You give me too much credit, Rachel," Quinn replied, ducking her head demurely. A falsehood, I understood, but she was communicating. In a way, Quinn was learning the ropes, too. I just felt that her learning curve came from a more impulsive, dishonest place than my own. I felt the honesty in her feelings for Rachel, however. There was a deep spark there that extended to even what I could feel. She wanted things with Rachel that I didn't know how to comprehend.

I just had to let her try, even if it made me slightly uncomfortable.

"Thanks for coming over," Rachel said shyly. "You're making this less and less awkward by the minute. I guess knowing that we're not so different..."

We are different. We're very, very different.

"I understand what it feels like to be alone in the world," Quinn said. "To feel empty, like you haven't got a single place to be or a single place to belong. I think that's why you have Glee Club, to give you purpose. I can't wait to hear you sing."

"I've never minded an audience," Rachel explained. "I live for the sound of applause, but, and forgive me if this sounds ridiculous, but I don't know how I feel about singing for you."

I felt Quinn's heart drop, as if it had been kicked and bruised.

_No, no Quinn... don't overreact. Just let her explain._

"What do you mean by that?" Quinn's voice sounded cold, and I braced myself for the impact. Turn this ship around, Rachel, and quickly.

"No, really! Nothing bad," Rachel said, grabbing both of Quinn's hands and holding them gently in hers. She looked into Quinn's eyes and smiled. "I guess I can see how literally, that could come off sounding like an insult. What I meant was that you bring out such... different feelings in me, and I find myself wanting to impress you, so badly, and even though I'm very secure in my talent, I don't just want to be _good _when you hear me sing. I want to be _phenomenal._ Does that make sense?"

Quinn pondered this, and I felt her heartbeat slow.

Crisis averted.

"You _are _phenomenal," Quinn breathed, adding her own grip to Rachel's hands.

Rachel looked at Quinn through her eyelashes, and smiled gently.

I didn't know how to feel about her looking at Quinn like that. I hadn't the proper storage, the proper grasp of emotion to put a title on such feelings, but it didn't feel good. It didn't feel right. I didn't understand why she couldn't look at me that way. Oh, right... lack of propensity with speech. Man, that Quinn could string a set of words together.

"But you haven't even heard me sing yet," Rachel added.

"That's not necessary to get a sense of your greatness."

"You know, it's a good thing you're straight, or I'd start to think you wanted something from me," Rachel said coyly.

What did that mean? Straight.

Without a bend, angle or curve?

My body seemed quite proportional, and even though I hadn't spent hours looking at myself in the mirror, I was quite certain that I wasn't equipped with any major physical abnormalities.

Why would she question otherwise?

"Who says I'm straight?" Quinn asked playfully.

_Well, we don't have a hunchback, Quinn. I'd say we are, in fact, quite straight. What the hell are you talking about?_

I felt a clashing sound in my head, and knew I was being silenced.

"You're not?" Rachel asked.

"I barely know you," Quinn said with a cheeky grin. "That's awfully personal information."

"I'm sorry," Rachel said. "It's just, you said you were an open book before, and obviously I'd be comfortable with and accepting of another lifestyle that didn't coincide with heterosexual norms."

"Sexuality is a sliding scale," Quinn replied succinctly. "I like what I like."

"Great minds think alike, then."

"Maybe someday, I'll tell you more about what I like."

Rachel leaned in a little closer, and licked her lips.

"Don't tempt me more than you already are, Quinn Fabray."

_Okay, time's up, you._

I sat back on my hands and felt flushed, felt unreasonably warm, and felt uncomfortable in my own body.

Rachel must have sensed the change in me, because she sat back as well and flashed me a gentle, nearly apologetic smile.

I didn't want to keep the distance between us. I didn't want to add more boundaries or propel us back into awkward silence, but I didn't want to tread into Quinn territory, either.

But I could do something.

I had to do something.

I bit my bottom lip, decided to chance the pain, and slid my hand across the comforter to Rachel's, dancing my fingertips lightly across her palm.

"You're sweet," Rachel said gently. She kept her palm face up, and I found that this type of touching wasn't that unpleasant. It felt like gentle sparks, almost like when little bits of a sparkler come loose and kiss your skin. When I first discovered what fireworks were, I had to try them all out. Most were unimpressive; I found that they just made a lot of noise, caused a lot of smoke, and generally smelled unpleasant, but sparklers were fascinating to me. How they could burn so bright, have such lack of control, and burn out so quickly... how they caused that unshakable need to light another one as soon as the previous one fizzled out. I couldn't get enough. I went through four packs of sparklers, lighting one right after another, and never leaving my front steps as I did so.

"You make me feel different," I admitted. "Special. I'm not sure what it is exactly that you make me feel. I don't have a word for it yet."

"Quinn Fabray doesn't have a word for something?" Rachel teased.

"I'm at a loss," I explained. I was. Ridiculously at a loss. Helpless. "There's a chance humans haven't created a word for what I'm feeling yet. Isn't there?"

I thought my explanation, my question, was born of curiosity. It was innocent. Rachel must have thought otherwise. She must have thought I was being charming and debonair, like Quinn. This smile, the one she was giving me, was brighter and more beautiful than any sparkler, than any _anything _I'd ever seen.

_Let me back in the game. _

I ignored Quinn and offered a bashful smile in return. I didn't have words for that smile, either. It was wonderful. That was the best I could do.

"We might have to create our own definition," Rachel suggested.

"Make a list, I'll look it over."

"You obviously don't know me that well. I'm freakishly organized. I just might do that," Rachel said.

"And I'd look it over," I stated. "Meticulously."

Rachel smirked, then looked at me closely. Before I knew what was happening, she was reaching for my face. I felt her fingertips on my cheekbone, and the pain only sparked slightly when we touched.

"What are you doing, Rachel?" I asked.

"You have a... there's an eyelash," Rachel said, then held up her index finger. Surely enough, there was one of my blonde eyelashes perched delicately on her finger. Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she looked at me with such an intensity that I felt my stomach churning, almost like I was famished and starving at the same time. "Make a wish, Quinn."

"Why?"

Rachel laughed.

"It's good luck," she replied, her voice still in that sultry whisper. She moved in closer, holding her finger inches away from my lips. I could feel the heat. I could sense the danger. "Just close your eyes, and blow."

"I don't know what to wish for."

"Surely you can think of something."

"I really can't."

"I don't know what happens if you don't blow, but I don't want bad things to happen, so I'm just going to wait here until you think of something. But hurry up, because you're ruining the moment," Rachel said, her voice back to normal.

I racked my brain. An eyelash seemed like an odd thing to wish on. What did I truly need to wish for?

Answers. I could wish for answers.

I could wish for good luck, for more good luck, for an opening to understand more of what I could not.

I thought of the time that I watched a beauty pageant on television. Everyone wished for world peace, or an end to world hunger, or happiness and joy overall. I could wish for one of those things. I'm sure lots of people would be thankful.

But I didn't care much for lots of people.

I barely even was concerned with my own happiness.

I thought of the pictures when I first walked into Rachel's house. I remembered how Rachel always had such a stunning smile, but that the smile never quite met her eyes. I thought about how she had been so happy to discover my friendship, even though I had practically landed on her like a house. I thought about how her father, Jacob, seemed delighted that I was in Rachel's life.

It was like they all wished for me.

Rachel had granted me happiness, even though I was still learning its true meaning.

So, I closed my eyes, and I wished.

_I wish for your happiness, Rachel. Whatever happiness truly is, whatever humans strive for, I want you to have it all. _

I blew away the eyelash, then opened my eyes.

"You thought of something?" Rachel asked.

"I did."

"Good."

"I really hope it comes true."

"It will," Rachel said. "Sometimes, magic really happens. You just have to believe in the good things. Good things happen to good people. That's what my dad always says."

"Am I a good person?"

"That's a silly question," Rachel said. I shrugged, and my bangs fell slightly over my eyes, their sideways swoop obstructing my vision. Rachel moved instantly and parted them correctly. Then she smiled. "You're one of the best people, Quinn. One of the best people I've ever known."

"In one day?"

"I told you," Rachel said. "Sometimes, magic really happens."

She leaned in, and her mouth was growing closer and closer to mine. I felt my skin crawling, preparing for the unknown. I felt my walls jump up, and I felt frozen. What the hell was she trying to do? It almost seemed like...

No, she wouldn't.

Why would she?

It almost seemed like she was about to kiss me.

I moved back, but she kept forward. Gently, shyly, perhaps, but still moving forward.

Quinn was on edge. She was irritated.

I didn't know what to do.

I couldn't... she couldn't... we couldn't.

"Quinn, can I...?" Rachel asked.

No. No! NO!

Just say no.

_Just kiss the girl already. _

_She's the one you want, Quinn. _

They all started talking, and I felt my fists clench. That was never a good sign. I felt my body begin to panic, I started to sweat, my muscles began twitching. I felt hot, boiling hot, dangerously hot.

"Girls, dinner!" Jacob called loudly from downstairs. Rachel chuckled, then sat back.

"Well, I guess that sufficiently ruined the moment," Rachel said.

I stayed silent.

Rachel smoothed her palms across the comforter, then glanced over at me.

"So, after dinner... do you maybe want to stay? Watch a movie?"

Too far. Too much. Too soon.

I had to bow out gracefully.

I knew that.

But how?

"I do have that homework," I said.

"Yeah, homework."

I could hear the disappointment creeping into her voice.

I couldn't bear it.

"Just because I can't stay tonight doesn't mean I never will," I replied.

Why couldn't I just say no to her?

Now I just secured another night, and I knew enough of Rachel Berry to know that she'd never let me back out. And I knew more than enough of Quinn, and the chances of her letting me back out were impossible, at best.

"A rain check?"

"Well, if you want me to come watch movies on a rainy day, I could do that, also."

Rachel laughed.

"Whatever you want, Quinn," Rachel said. "But we should get downstairs. Daddy hates being kept waiting after he's gone to all the trouble to cook a meal."

"You lead, I'll follow."

"I'm learning that," Rachel said, tossing a wink over her shoulder when she made it to her bedroom door, then moved quickly downstairs.

I paused in the doorway, but didn't pause long. I never wanted to make her think I was too far behind.

I never wanted to lose her trust.

I never wanted to disappoint her.

I made my way down the stairs. I took my place at her table.

I made conversation with her and her father, and it was surprisingly effortless.

And, for the first time that I could remember... I felt like I had a place.

I felt like I belonged somewhere.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I know, I know. Two updates in two days? Crazy! But you guys being excited about this story makes ME excited about writing this story, and I just want to keep writing more and more. Dropping more hints, more clues, creating more of this universe that I'm becoming kind of obsessed with. Really, it's insanity. However, I'm so overjoyed to read your glowing reviews, and don't worry; more and more of the puzzle is coming together. I'm not going to say who, but a few of my reviewers are... _almost _on the right track. So keep throwing those thoughts out there, keep asking questions, and please, keep letting me know your thoughts. It really helps, and it kind of makes me feel like a rockstar. With that all being said (I'm becoming verbose like Rachel - gosh), please enjoy!**

* * *

><p>My sleep cycles had been irregular the night before, so I started my second school day a little less alert than I would have liked. I carried my books tight to my chest as I made my way to my locker. I failed on my combination twice, spinning incorrectly the first time, then picking a wrong number on the second. Finally, the lock clicked open, and I gathered my materials for my first class.<p>

My first class, which was Spanish, which meant I would be reacquainted with Rachel Berry. I worried about speaking with her in my current state, as I felt that it was an absolute necessity to be at peak performance around this girl. Even when I was playing with a full deck of cards, so to speak, she still had a way about her that kept me on my toes. Quinn had offered to take over, and I denied her request each and every time. I knew she didn't intend to bring harm to Rachel, even though her emotions, temper, and impulses were quick to act, but I wasn't willing to take the risk.

I walked down the hallway, seeing the other people in a blurred light, like I was wearing some sort of fogged glasses, because nothing was sharp or in focus. I wasn't noticing the minor details of the picture, all I could see was rough edges and blurred lines. I didn't catch each and every embrace, nor did I catalog the minor happenstances that occurred in the common human interactions that were being created all around me. And I _needed _to take note of these things; I needed to use them.

What was the most frustrating thing about my predicament, I had decided, was that I knew the cause of my sleeplessness. They were dreams, one right after another, I had guessed, and they could have been important, but the content was shielded from my recollection. They were behind a wall, kept locked away with lasers and barbed wire fences, and I could not get inside. I couldn't use these dreams that had kept me awake, kept me tossing and turning and miserable, as any sort of deciphering mechanism to decode more puzzle pieces in my head. So, they were useless, and my sleepless night was truly for naught.

It was unsettling.

I rounded the corner, noticing that the halls were barely populated. I thought I took a wrong turn somewhere, since this hallway didn't look familiar. It was a surprise that I hadn't gotten lost before, since the hallways were nearly identical in structure and decoration except for the motivational posters or occasional trophy case. I passed the lunch room, and stopped in my tracks.

There had been a bell earlier, hadn't there?

"Damn it," I groaned aloud, realizing what this meant. My haze had caused me to make another dangerous misstep: I was going to be late for class. I rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes and did my best to steady myself, to find any determining feature that would calibrate my location and clue me in on the correct path to get to my classroom. I considered asking for help, as there were still a few students walking past, no doubt purposefully tardy or skipping class, and decided that delinquents weren't likely to be helpful.

I breathed deeply, trying to ward off the panic I sensed coming, and took a blind leap of faith, turning down a hallway that seemed so familiar, and wandered down the center, analyzing the doorway of each and every classroom I passed, and finding that none of them were the one I wanted.

I counted aloud each time, getting increasingly frustrated with myself, with my situation, with my terrible luck.

Why did the dreams have to interfere with my life if they were going to be useless?

Was there a higher power that decided to put me on its blacklist?

Was I being punished for something?

I turned around corner, and sped up my walking pace. I walked, and I walked, and I walked all the way into two large, solid male students.

I took a step back and looked up at their faces. They crossed their arms and stared at me.

"Good morning," I greeted kindly, hoping this would be adequate.

"Hey, freak," one of the boys said crudely. I flinched.

This wasn't going to go well.

"I'd prefer if you didn't call me that. Perhaps it's because you don't know my real first name. I can correct that. My name is Quinn, Quinn Fabray," I said, extending my hand in another gesture of good faith. Both boys looked at it, then at me, then began to laugh.

"We don't want what you've got, weirdo," the other sneered.

I rocked back on my heels and lowered my hand.

"Well, then if we're past pleasantries, one-sided as they were, perhaps you'll be able to offer simple directions. I am looking for the Spanish room, and I'm lost. I'd be very grateful if you'd just point me in the right direction, and I'll be happily on my way."

"Kind of thought we'd just torture you a little," the first boy said. "That seems like way more fun."

Wait, what?

"Yeah, I kind of have a reputation to uphold, you see. And yesterday, you made me seem like a pansy, and I just can't have that," the other said, and they both moved in closer. My temple started throbbing, and I closed my eyes. I felt caged.

I felt trapped.

My heart started to pound heavily in my chest, and I felt dizzy.

_Please help._

"What are we gonna do with this one, Karofsky?" the first boy asked the second. Karofsky narrowed his eyes and leered at me, then grabbed me roughly with one of his giant hands.

I looked behind him, behind me, I squeaked, hoping that would make him release me. I thought about begging. I thought about apologizing. I thought about fighting back, but I did none of those things. I closed my eyes again when the throbbing in my head turned to an insistent pounding, a nauseating force that wasn't going to be reckoned with.

"Boys, boys," another voice drawled from behind them, and a familiar figure appeared from one of the hallways. "Would you stand back for a second. I've got words with this one."

The girl I knew to be called Santana came into my line of sight, and Karofsky dropped his hand from my arm. They flanked me on either side, almost like they were guarding, even though I knew they were doing the exact opposite. They were the walls of my cage. They were my captors.

Santana stepped forward and smiled. I felt my stomach churn when I saw the pure poison behind it. Quinn was rattling her cage, begging to be let out. She was tossing threats aside like daggers, saying horrible things that made me wince. She threatened to tear Santana apart. She threatened to beat her with her own severed limbs. She threatened all kinds of nasty, horrible things, and I closed my eyes.

I couldn't let her out.

I couldn't let the beast out of her cage.

Just like Karofsky, I had a reputation to uphold. Well, to create. I had to appear normal. Murdering three of my fellow students, even though I was absolutely certain it was what Quinn wanted, would not do me a bit of good.

"Hey there, Quinn," Santana drawled. "Remember our little chit-chat from yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Good," Santana said. "So you're not stupid. That's a relief."

"I'm quite far from stupid," I replied.

"I didn't say you could speak," Santana snapped, drawing closer to me. Her eyes burned into mine, and I could feel their chill. I could feel the anger in them like it surged within my own veins. I swallowed hard. I repressed Quinn.

I begged her to stay put.

For all of us.

"These two are going to take you to a very special place that only certain special people get to experience at McKinley, and while you're enjoying your stay there, I want you to think about what you've done," Santana continued. "Threatening those of us at the top of the pyramid will never, ever end well for you. And I'm going to make your life a living hell."

She leaned forward and patted my shoulder like she was a close friend telling me a funny or touching story, then backed up and put the ice back in her eyes. She turned to Karofsky and the other boy and nodded.

"Show the new girl to her classroom, boys," Santana commanded. She turned, then disappeared back down the hallway where she emerged. I felt myself being hoisted by my arms, then thrown over the other boy's broad shoulder.

I didn't fight it.

If this was how things worked in their world, I had to comply.

Even if it felt wrong.

"She's not fighting back, Azimio," Karofsky said to the boy carrying me. "This isn't fun."

"She's also not as light as she looks," Azimio groaned, shifting me on his shoulder. "Girl feels solid like a rock. Like a box of lead. Jesus."

"Maybe you should stop eating, fat ass," Karosfky taunted.

I didn't take his words seriously.

I had studied human biology. I was the correct weight for my height and had a perfectly proportional build.

Perhaps my body composition was different than theirs.

I hadn't looked into that.

I took in his chubby build, despite the obvious muscle that lingered in areas like his chest and arms, and thought about retaliating verbally. Would that be expected? Would that be stepping out of line? I felt the anger surge and linger from Quinn's underlying rage, and decided to chance it.

"You're an athlete, aren't you?"

Karofsky looked at me, and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. McKinley High Varsity football, baby!" he yelled loudly, grunting after his sentence. I half-expected him to beat his chest like a gorilla.

"Right. I would expect someone with athletic aspirations to take better care of themselves. You're a little hefty around your middle."

His nostrils flared. I sensed his anger. I felt an odd lightness, like success. I supposed that my decision had been the correct one, as it felt like the proper reply. In time, I would have to learn better insults.

"Fucking toss this broad, Azimio," Karofsky cursed, lifting the lid of what I recognized as a large garbage container. I surely wasn't...

They weren't really going to...

I braced myself for the impact, then felt my body sail into a sea of black plastic. I tried not to breathe. There was a banana peel right next to my hair. There was something sticking to my leg.

Karofsky waved at me, then slammed the lid shut.

I fought for oxygen.

I screamed, but could only hear their muffled laughter on the other side. It became quieter, and I knew that they had walked away.

I banged on the lid, but realized that there was something heavy on top. I couldn't move it. Panic set in immediately, but didn't last long as my headache came back with a vengeance, tearing at me with an intense splitting pain that threatened to knock me unconscious.

Maybe it would be better that way.

Maybe my body would regulate itself to conserve oxygen until somebody found me.

Maybe Rachel.

Surely Rachel would go looking for me after Spanish class.

Unless she became concerned and thought I was avoiding her. Then her feelings would likely be hurt, and she wouldn't go looking for me at all.

My vision blurred, and I shut my eyes again. I felt my body heat up, probably from the thick plastic that kept me in its cocoon.

"Let me out, please," I whined. I knew nobody could hear me. It was what felt right, what felt necessary, all I could manage.

_Quinn, help. Get me out of here._

Quinn didn't answer. She didn't take over.

Maybe she had decided to punish me, too, for not letting her out sooner.

I closed my eyes and wished for my body to regulate. For the pounding in my head to stop. For some sort of internal reset to be triggered, so I could take this entire day back and start over.

For Santana to not be so horrible.

For those boys to turn a blind eye to my existence.

I opened my eyes and saw white walls. White walls everywhere. I saw bars, and felt like I was cold. I was cold all over. I was swimming. There was liquid, a tube, and I was inside of it. I opened my eyes, and could see underwater, and the solution I was immersed in didn't burn my eyes. I couldn't see clearly, given the murky nature of this strange fluid, but I could see a woman in a lab coat outside of the tube taking notes on a chart. She looked at me, tilted her head, and I shut my eyes. I sensed that they weren't supposed to be open. I could feel my hearing shift, my eardrums moving, they were trying to hear.

She was saying something...

I wanted to hear her.

"_Yes, you're developing quite nicely, aren't you, 22-B?" the woman spoke. She jotted down a few more notes on the chart, then looked at the specimen floating in a sea of green fluid. "The chart says ten more hours on Cryogenesis for you, and then you can go back to the containment cells."_

_22-B bobbed up and down in the liquid, suspended in a deep slumber, and bubbles arose from her breathing. Her hands stayed limp at her side, and she was effortlessly treading water, even in her sleep._

"_It's remarkable to think that you've only been here for three years. That we created you three years ago," the woman continued. "I've seen many specimens come and go, you know, and none of them are quite as... incredible as you."_

_22-B began to shift restlessly, and her eyes opened again, starting to blink rapidly as she seemingly became self-aware. In the fluid, bubbles began to surface rapidly, as if her hands, her skin, the molecules she was creating, were causing a change in the viscosity and physical characteristics of her surroundings._

"_Well, that's new," the woman said, then scratched notes down on the chart. "Your thermal radiation wasn't due to make an appearance for another week and a half. Marcus will be pleased."_

_The bubbles became more frequent, and the fluid started to boil around her. The glass fogged up, and large waves began to surface in the tube. 22-B thrashed around rapidly. The woman placed her hand on the tube, recoiling immediately when she felt the intense heat burn her hand.  
><em>

"_Shit!" _

_She pressed a large blue button next to her, which immediately triggered alarms and lights that began sounding off all around the facility. _

_Louder and louder. _

_Then the tube began to crack._

I felt the cooler outside air upon me, a gentle breeze on my face, then on my hands. The breeze felt like ice on my palms, and I breathed deeply, allowing myself a cleansing breath once my eyes had opened.

It was fresh air.

Why was I breathing fresh air?

I was still trapped, wasn't I?

I looked around, seeing the garbage bags were still surrounding me. I pressed my hand to my temple, noting that my headache had faded. I blinked twice, then breathed in again, smelling something sharp and tangy in the air.

Something burning.

I looked around me again and came to the stark realization that I was sitting up in the _center _of the dumpster lid. I had somehow melted it with my bare hands, and torn the metal apart to break through.

To escape.

Quickly, I jumped out of the dumpster, brushing my hands on my jeans and ridding myself of any excess trash that had collected as I sprinted to my car.

I started my engine, and drove off.

I didn't care about classes anymore. I'd go home, get cleaned up, and make it back to school by lunchtime.

I'd have Quinn lie for me.

She was smart enough to think of something.

As I drove back to my apartment, I heard Santana's voice in my head.

_Freak. _

I _was_ a freak. As far as I had researched, humans did not possess the ability to melt metal and tear it apart, even under the most unthinkable duress.

But I could.

Which meant that my most horrible suspicions were correct.

I wasn't human. No, I was something else.

And I was dangerous.

* * *

><p>I made it back to the school by lunchtime, just as the bell was ringing, and picked the same table as the day before. I unpacked my lunch, and I waited for Rachel. But first, I did a cursory scan of the area to make sure my tormentors were nowhere to be seen.<p>

Then I released Quinn.

Quinn nibbled on her sandwich, and soon enough, we were joined by an irritated looking Rachel Berry.

"Would you like to sit down, Rachel?" Quinn asked politely, gesturing to the chair next to her. "I saved you a seat."

Rachel crossed her arms.

"Where were you earlier?"

"I overslept," Quinn lied easily. "Why does it feel like you're angry with me?"

"I just..." Rachel started, then her tone shifted and she took the seat. She set her lunch bag down on the table and looked at Quinn. Her face contorted in a strange way, and she looked all over Quinn's face. She kept this up for a while, like she needed to scan us in order to gain her wording, then spoke again. "I couldn't shake the feeling that after last night, you wanted nothing to do with me."

"That's the most ridiculous thing," Quinn started, then changed her tune. She placed her hand on Rachel's, and smiled. "As far as I'm concerned, I had a really good time with you and your father last night. And I'm sorry that my need to be studious kept me away from you."

"Well, obviously it kept you away from Spanish, too," Rachel said. Quinn released Rachel's hand and took another bite of her sandwich. Rachel unpacked her lunch. "How late were you up studying anyway? It's only the second day, you couldn't have had that much homework."

"I was, um... I was reading my Biology textbook," Quinn said.

"What?" Rachel asked, swallowing her bite of sandwich, then clearing her throat. "Why were you doing that?"

"The human body fascinates me," Quinn purred, making it sound like something entirely other than science. "And I like to stay ahead of the curve."

Rachel swiveled slightly in her seat, and kept her eyes away from Quinn.

"Well, I can admire that tenacity," Rachel replied quietly. "Now I know how to turn to should I need a study buddy for science."

"Of course," Quinn said. "I'd be offended if you didn't choose me."

Again, I caught her double entendre.

It was moments like these when I thought letting her out was a grave mistake.

I didn't want this.

Why would I green-light something that I didn't understand, even if she seemed to understand it _very_ well?

It just wasn't right.

"I'll remember that," Rachel said. There was a silence that passed over them as Quinn and Rachel began eating lunch. Quinn kept staring at Rachel every few seconds, but was good enough to look away or look somewhere else every time Rachel looked up to catch her.

Rachel got pretty close a few times, but Quinn was always quicker.

I didn't know how Rachel knew Quinn was looking at her. Maybe it was intuition.

"So, do you want to hear what you missed while you were sleeping?" Rachel asked, and Quinn nodded simply, so she continued. "I'm not high up on the social totem pole or anything, but Jacob Ben-Israel practically stalks me, so I'm cued in to _some _gossip."

"I don't know this Jacob person," Quinn said.

"Oh, that's a good thing. You wouldn't like him," Rachel said, blanching like she had just eaten something rotten. "He's always making crude sexual advances at me, and insisting that we would make gorgeous Jewish babies together. And every time, I inform him that's he's not attractive to me, not to mention the fact that he shares a name with one of my fathers."

Quinn gripped her water bottle hard. The plastic crunched, but she loosened her hand before she demolished the bottle completely.

"So you're not attracted to him?"

"God, no. Quinn, that's disgusting," Rachel said. Quinn breathed, then plastered a smile back on her face.

"So, gossip. You were about to share."

Rachel's face lit up.

"Oh, right! Apparently this morning, someone set the dumpster on fire. Well, some people say it was fire, some people say acid... like they stole something from the chemistry lab. I'm pretty sure it was just some prank or teenage boredom, likely caused by Noah Puckerman."

"But?" Quinn prompted.

Rachel smirked and took a sip out of her Thermos.

"How is it that you know me so well?" Rachel asked, then continued. "Some people are talking, though, saying that it could be something else. The popular kids... they throw those of us on the bottom of the social ladder in that dumpster on a semi-regular basis, when they aren't giving us slushie facials or writing horrible things on our lockers."

"So what are you thinking happened?" Quinn asked.

What a dirty liar.

_You know exactly what happened. Abort the subject. We don't want to clue her in._

I heard a sharp crashing, and felt my ears ring. Quinn wasn't going to take any advice from me, clearly.

"I think it would be ludicrous to think that one of us underlings didn't exact some sort of poetic revenge on it," Rachel said. "Although I think vandalism is never okay. Noah Puckerman will likely take credit for it, anyway, if he isn't blamed or guilty. So it really doesn't matter."

"It's just a dumpster, anyway," Quinn said.

"To most, yes. But I've been dumped in that thing lots of times by Santana and her goons. It's... miserable. It's dark, and sometimes they close the lid on you and you can be stuck in there for hours. Once, I got thrown in after salisbury steak day, just after lunch hour... I had to burn those clothes. The smell of meat disgusts me."

"I won't let them do that to you ever again, even if they fix the dumpster," Quinn swore with such conviction that I knew Rachel would take her seriously.

"Karofsky and Azimio are giants," Rachel said. "While I would appreciate your valiant attempt, there's really nothing you could do."

"Oh yeah?" Quinn challenged. I felt our blood run hot. "Well, we'll see."

The silence resumed, and I felt Quinn getting restless.

Even though I was exhausted, confused, and completely unprepared to deal with this day, I forced her back into her place and took over the reins.

Rachel was eating sticks of celery, and I was content just to watch her, since Quinn had nearly polished off all of our lunch.

She was so delicate.

So wonderful.

Strangely perfect, for an odd creature. She was small, and maybe her eyes were a little too large for her face. Her nose was curiously shaped, although that was likely tribute to her Jewish ancestry.

I thought she was beautiful.

I didn't know what it meant, to find a human beautiful, but I understood the definition of the word.

Beautiful: having qualities that give great pleasure or satisfaction to see, hear, think about, etc. Delighting the senses or mind.

All of those things were accurate and, I found, uniquely Rachel.

I accepted it, accepted her, so she was beautiful to me.

"Quinn, you're staring."

I looked down at the table quickly.

Quinn had been good at this game. Why wasn't I?

_Quick, save yourself._

"Do you happen to know when it's supposed to rain?" I asked. "I wanted to prepare a list of movies before it becomes time to cash that check I promised you."

Rachel blushed, then moved her gaze upward to meet mine. But, mine flickered away when I caught sight of a dark figure leaning against a post toward the back of the cafeteria.

Santana.

She was watching me, then her eyes shifted to Rachel, and the smirk on her face when she regarded both of us, especially together, was dark and menacing enough to make Quinn quiver and cause a riot in my head.

I feared the outcome.

I feared for myself, for the first time that I could remember.

Because as much as I wanted to be protected, I was more concerned about Rachel. And to protect Rachel, I'd have to bring out Quinn.

But Quinn was dangerous, murderous, perhaps... she was a loose cannon, and I could not in good conscience set _that _free to roam the halls of McKinley High.

So, my only option became clear.

Whatever I was, whatever I was supposed to be, I'd have to control it myself. I'd have to learn Quinn's behaviors and modify them to suit my own. I'd have to control my own destiny, and stop waiting around for answers that might never come.

I swallowed my fear and reached deep for some confidence. Confidence that I likely stole from Quinn's example, and stared back at Santana. I adopted a smirk of my own.

If Rachel had heard about the dumpster, surely Santana had heard. But she had more answers than Rachel, because she knew that I hadn't overslept. She knew that she ordered Karofsky and Azimio to throw me in that dumpster, just before it burned.

She was already looking for a target to release her bullets upon.

I had practically handed it to her.

I looked back at Rachel, fought the pain I knew was coming, and brushed my fingertips against her arm.

"I'd have to check the forecast," Rachel decided.

"So check the forecast, and I'll get to work on that list."

"You'll allow me to peruse the list?" Rachel asked. Her tone baffled me: had nobody taken her feelings into consideration before? Was I the first?

"I wouldn't think of pushing my choices on you without prior approval," I stated simply. It was true, honest. I didn't wish to lie. I wouldn't pick up _that _habit. Not with Rachel, at the very least.

"Yep," Rachel hummed happily.

I was so distracted by the happiness on her face that I completely forgot about Santana. Happiness. Now I knew what it looked like. It wasn't just words on a page. I would learn from Rachel.

Rachel could teach me.

"What is 'yep'?" I asked.

I needed to know more. I needed to read her like a book. She was so much more telling, after all. So much more exciting than words on paper.

"Nothing, just thinking out loud."

"Will you share your thoughts with me?"

Rachel giggled.

I loved that sound.

"You're just perfect, that's all."

I thought hard.

Perfect: excellent or complete beyond practical or theoretical improvement.

"Absolutely not," I replied.

"Would you just let me give you a damn compliment?"

I hadn't stopped touching her forearm. I barely registered the pain. She didn't push me away.

"Okay."

"Good," Rachel said. "I'll have access to a computer during my next class, so I'll let you know about the forecast."

"I'll be looking forward to it."

For the rest of lunch hour, we were content to just sit and enjoy one another's company. Conversation was light and infrequent. The world passed by us like everything else was on fast-forward and we were standing still.

I became bolder and eventually found myself content to simply stroke my fingers up and down her arm, absently. It was perhaps strange, as gestures between friends go, but she didn't push me away. As I expected, she was the lead conversationalist when we did speak. She'd tell me stories, some about her fathers, some about her childhood, and she'd ask me questions.

My favorite soda.

My favorite color.

My favorite song.

I didn't have answers.

She didn't mind. She just promised that we'd explore these things together.

When lunch hour ended, I walked her to class. I held her hand the entire way.

What I originally grew to fear now surprised me.

For the first time, it didn't hurt.

For the first time, it just felt normal.

Right.

_Perfect._


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Apparently I'm supposed to warn all of you before you read this chapter. So, here goes: my girlfriend, who always reads everything I write before I post it, was FURIOUS with me with this chapter because, well... it's kind of a blindside. And by blindside, I mean intense. Granted, she's a very emotional human, so maybe it won't be so intense for you all. However, it does contain a healthy dose of angst and violence amongst all the Faberry development and more "What the hell is Quinn/22-B, anyway?" And I know you all still have questions. Lots of questions, probably. Some of those questions are about to be answered. So, grab something and hold the hell onto it. Shit's about to get real. And always, I'd love to know what you think. Although I may be kind of asking for it after this chapter, and not in a good way.  
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><p>I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but after the final bell rang, I found my way to Glee rehearsal with Rachel.<p>

It was a series of text messages between the two of us, and even though I wasn't sure of all the benefits of owning and utilizing a cellular device: I didn't have family that would be missing me, I didn't have friends other than Rachel, I didn't have much to be accountable for on a social level, really... I found that I liked our text-messaging banter.

It was what managed to get me into that choir room, even though I found my stomach sinking as I entered and saw the same faces from yesterday, minus Santana's and that lanky boy's. That was a bit of a relief.

I felt Rachel behind me... I sensed her.

It didn't scare me this time.

I didn't scare her this time.

"I'm going to grab your hand, Quinn," Rachel said quietly. I detected that it was meant to be playful, a gentle nod to yesterday's events, but still appreciated the warning. She did what she said, grabbing my hand tentatively in her own and laced our fingers together. I didn't understand what the gesture meant entirely, but I sensed that it was a reasonably large step from the way the fashionably dressed boy in the back row and Tina looked at us with a mixture of confusion and shock.

Rachel led us to the same seats as yesterday and I watched her send a quiet glance to every person, specifically addressed, sealed, and delivered to each pair of eyes as if she was daring them to say something to set me off, then warning them against it.

Maybe she wanted me to feel comfortable.

Maybe she was trying to save them from, well... _me._

I appreciated her foresight.

I smiled at her and gave her hand a little squeeze, and a fluttering in my chest that felt like joy reminded me that we had been touching for at least two minutes and the pain hadn't yet registered in my system.

So, maybe I was dangerous.

Maybe I was fearsome, different, inhuman... but Rachel brought out the best in me.

I wasn't dangerous to _her. _

_She _wasn't scared of me.

I felt emotions, I felt light and color instead of hard facts for two whole seconds until another voice perked up in my head, reminding me that life wasn't simple and easy. Life wasn't candy and rainbows, or shades of colored emotion like Quinn felt. No, life was planned, routine, and there was a path I had to take.

Part of my path had been chosen, and that part of the path was still hidden from her view, tucked out of sight and kept closed-off. Because I realized that if Rachel knew what I was, maybe she would become afraid. I didn't fully comprehend my own origin, my own existence, my own capabilities, and the fear was striking me at the most inopportune moments.

I sensed it was the fear of the unknown, the worry that comes from feeling out of control and helpless. The fear of being afraid of yourself, in a way. That's what I was: afraid of myself. Afraid of my capabilities, not because I didn't know what they were (even though I didn't), but because I didn't know how to harness them and control them.

My hearing picked up, sensing movement from out in the hallway. I could hear heartbeats first, two of them, then voices, low and slightly static at first. Then, I looked up and saw two figures approaching. Pinkies linked.

"Please stay calm," Rachel whispered.

"You think I'm not calm?" I asked, also in a whisper.

Was I not calm?

I felt a tightening in my belly. I felt my pulse pick up, just ever so slightly. A heartbeat, nothing more.

Was that not calm?

"You're holding my hand tighter than before, and Santana just walked in. I'm trying to diffuse the bomb before it explodes."

"Oh," I breathed. "Thank you."

"As much as it might be gratifying to watch you kick Santana Lopez's ass, they'd probably suspend you for that, and then where would I be? Back at square one," Rachel said gently. "Friendless and alone. And I just can't have that, Quinn. I cannot."

"I'll try my hardest not to give you gratification, then."

"Although," Rachel started, then paused. "If she starts something off of school property, you _do _have the right to self-defend."

"I think your initial attempt at calming me is slowly descending into failure."

"Okay, okay. Sorry. Stay calm," Rachel said. "Just breathe, and stay calm."

"Thank you, Rachel."

"Anytime, Quinn."

At the mention of _her _name, I heard Quinn growl, snarl, and start to rattle her cage. It was a quiet fury at first, like she could smell the blood coursing through Santana's veins and wanted a taste. Like she wanted to consume the girl, then pick her teeth with the bones. Horrible things, really. I focused hard until she became silent, then smiled at Rachel, like I hadn't just seen those types of visceral images floating about my head. She smiled back.

Santana approached us, then lingered slightly by our row. I braced myself, focusing more on controlling Quinn than breathing. I still wasn't sure if she could take control on her own, or if it was the type of event that required permission. I still couldn't hear her, which could have signaled a type of quiet before the storm, and worked to unnerve me on a greater level.

If Quinn got out...

I shut my eyes, counted backwards from ten, and tried to pull up articles on stress relief, using my apparently endless memory to recall details, even the most seemingly insignificant, to aid in my quest of inner calm.

_Zen. _

_Herbal tea. _

_Long walks. _

Damn it.

I opened my eyes, and scooted my chair a little closer to Rachel. I moved my head ever so slightly, then took another breath. I could smell Rachel, her body wash, the flowers, vanilla, sunshine on her skin.

Quinn grew silent.

Absolutely, terrifying silent.

And I felt calm.

"Hello, Quinn," Santana purred. "Hello, Rachel."

"You have really pretty eyes," the other girl, the one I always saw attached to my nemesis, said to me. I wasn't sure what to think of it, but apparently Santana wasn't happy about it, because she tugged hard on the other blonde's hand, effectively diverting the girl's gaze.

"Come on Britts," Santana said, in her same commanding tone, but with a hint of vulnerability, with a hint of _emotion_.

I focused in.

I looked at her.

I could _feel _it.

Jealousy.

I raised an eyebrow at the brunette and smiled gently.

I knew she was looking for my weaknesses, for ways to destroy me. She was looking for ammunition, for pieces of me to tear down and rip apart to expose my beating heart to the cruel environment around me.

But I could see the cracks in her armor. Quinn smiled within me, like a predator that had just gotten a good whiff of its prey's jugular, a promised offering of a better taste when said prey was caught and within its grasp.

Santana looked away, then dragged the blonde girl up to the back row, far, _far _away from us.

"Okay, what just happened?"

I broke from my inner tirade, from Quinn's celebration, from our new discovery, and looked to Rachel, who was now commanding my attention.

"What?"

"Between you and Santana," Rachel attempted a second time. "What happened?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I really didn't. I didn't even know what happened. We looked at one another. I sensed her jealousy, I looked harder, she ran. Simple. Not human, given that I could single out her prevalent, strongest emotions, and probably complex for normal people to understand, but quite simple to me.

"You guys had a look," Rachel said. "It was strange, and almost like those terrible old Western movies when the heroic cowboy and the varmint are having a standoff. The only thing missing was the tumbleweed rolling aimlessly through the dust."

I can't lie.

I can't lie, and I _cannot _let Quinn out.

"She was jealous of me."

Rachel laughed.

"What?"

"Santana was jealous of me, because that other blonde girl said that I have pretty eyes, and I think it angered her," I explained again.

"I did hear Brittany say that. But it's not untrue. Not at all." Rachel said. I could see the gears turning in her head. "Why would that make Santana jealous?"

She was asking me a question.

I didn't have the answers.

I thought back to the dictionary in my head, perused it, then went through pop culture references, books I'd read, movies I'd seen, television shows, famous events in history... what was the logical conclusion?

Think. Think. You have to give her answers _sometime._

"Perhaps they are lovers."

Rachel's jaw dropped. She grabbed my chair, tugged me closer. I was surprised at how she was a little stronger than she looked. She moved her head closer, and I could feel her breath on my neck.

Too hot.

Too close.

Too much.

I breathed through my mouth.

I fought to stay above water.

"You can't _say _things like that. Santana will... if she even thinks that you're... assuming things about her and Brittany, or moving in, or doing anything to threaten... _whatever it is _that they have, she'll kill you. I'm not even kidding. She'll kill you, find somewhere disgusting to leave you, and leave you there," Rachel whispered, her voice low and serious. "To rot. Okay?"

Surely she wasn't serious.

"No, she wouldn't."

"Okay, so maybe that was me being over-dramatic again. But just a little. Santana is... weirdly connected to Brittany. Don't mess with it. Please?" Rachel asked. "I'd kind of like to keep you. Santana's known for bullying people until they transfer. That is _not _an exaggeration."

"You want to keep me?"

Rachel's eyes lowered.

"You're the closest thing I've ever had to a best friend," she started quietly. Shyly. My heart fluttered again. Butterflies returned. I felt a little dizzy. "And... there's..."

"There's...?"

More, obviously. I knew there was more. I knew there was something she wasn't telling me. I had to know what it was. I felt like I was sitting on pins. Suspended high above something imposing and treacherous.

"Don't piss her off more than you already have. Please?" Rachel asked. "Don't leave? Don't let her run you off."

Something more that she wasn't going to tell me, apparently.

I looked into her eyes. I tried to find an emotion. I tried to find my answers. I couldn't. Something was blocking me. Building a wall, but it wasn't coming from Rachel, it was coming from...

From me.

My feelings, though I couldn't distinguish one from another, nor could I catalog them for specific meaning, were blocking me from sensing what she was feeling.

I tried words instead.

I tried to find words.

I zeroed in on those.

What do I want to tell Rachel?

What do _I _need to say?

I thought back before, to what the voice had told me. What it had given me. The clue. A piece of the puzzle.

Rachel _was _part of the puzzle. I was sure of it.

Then the words came.

"I couldn't leave you if even if I tried."

Rachel nodded, then settled our hands into my lap.

I placed mine on top, because it just _felt _like the right thing to do.

I was shocked that I was starting to react on something other than thought.

I was surprised that I could feel instead of just think.

I was surprised that she didn't hurt, that I wasn't in pain, that I wasn't off blowing things up with my mind or melting trash cans or causing mayhem.

Being a monster.

For a moment, it seemed like just the two of us.

I could get used to that, I decided.

I could see the lines blurring between what I knew and what I was. What I wasn't, and what I wanted to be.

"Rachel?"

"Quinn?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything, Quinn."

I smiled.

"Why do you say my name so much?"

It wasn't my name. It was a valid concern.

"Maybe I like your name. Was that what you wanted to ask?"

"No."

"So ask me."

"What if there was something about me that was utterly unlikeable? What if there was something I wasn't telling you, and you found out later, and it was terrifying and horrible, would you still want to be my friend?"

"Are you going to turn into a giant monster and destroy the city?"

Her head dropped onto my shoulder.

I started to feel warmer.

Not uncomfortable, not painful. Just warmer.

"Probably not. And Lima's not what I could call a city."

She laughed.

"Are you going to kill me in my sleep?"

"Are you going to let me near you while you're asleep?"

"Not if you plan on killing me, no."

I traced my thumb across the back of her hand, enjoying how it felt.

It felt smooth, soft. Not entirely unpleasant. Not like what I expected person-to-person contact to feel like.

I never thought I would want it.

I never thought I would relish closeness.

I never thought I would want to really spend time with friends except during activities that were social and necessary to help me determine my own identity amongst the masses.

Nothing more than what would achieve normalcy.

Nothing like this.

"I don't plan on killing you in your sleep, Rachel."

"Are you dangerous?"

"I could be."

"Do you think you're dangerous?"

I paused.

_Quinn?_

My head was still silent.

The cage stopped rattling.

I had no safety net. Rachel's eyes looked up at me expectantly.

Well, I had opened the door. I did ask the question. This was probably as good an opportunity as any to get an answer. A _real _answer.

"I think I might be."

Rachel kept her head on my shoulder. She didn't move an inch. Actually, she started _humming_. Just a little, like she was using the tune to collect her thoughts.

"I don't think you're dangerous," Rachel said. "And if you are, I feel safe with you still. Like, whatever happens, you couldn't... you wouldn't hurt me. Does that make sense?"

Yes.

Yes, it makes absolute sense. She might be on to something.

"So, you're not afraid of me, even if I'm dangerous?"

"Even if you're dangerous," Rachel reiterated. "Why are you trying to sell me on thoughts of you being like such a scary... thing, Quinn? You kind of seem like a big softie."

"I'm just looking for answers. You know, testing out hypotheses. Finding out things that I need to know for everything up here to make sense."

"Your mind is an interesting place," Rachel said. "It must get crowded up there. All those thoughts."

She tapped the side of my head.

Oh, Rachel Berry: you have _no _idea.

Again, we drifted into that comfortable place that was just me and her. I felt her touch as a gentle hum, now, like music against my skin. It tingled, but didn't prickle. Sparked, but didn't burn.

I liked it.

Then, everything changed.

"What the hell are you doing?" a loud, booming voice sounded, echoing off the walls of the room.

Maybe they should change the name of the club. It didn't seem very gleeful in here.

"Finn, who are you even talking to?" Rachel asked, looking at the lanky boy that was now standing just in front of the doorway curiously.

She didn't even move an inch to ask an inch to address him. She simply stayed content, lost in my arms.

In my arms.

Rachel Berry was in my arms. When did that happen?

"I'm talking to you, Rachel. My ex-girlfriend who is, what, cuddling up in the middle of Glee Club with another _chick_?"

"Finn, Quinn and I are friends. You're freaking out. You're being ridiculous and well, very stereotypically accurate in your portrayal of a jealous ex-boyfriend."

"Rachel, I've been trying for _months _to get you back, and then this... what the _fuck_?" Finn yelled again. He waved his arms around, moved closer.

"Finn, this is not the time or the place to-" I heard a voice sound from the back.

"Kurt, shut up. This is between me and Rachel."

"You're the one who brought it into Glee Club," another voice sounded.

"Shut up, all y'all. I wants to see Finnocence lay a smack down."

That voice was clear to me.

I tried not to focus on it.

I heard the rattling begin.

I felt the fire start.

I saw things get blurry. That's when I knew I was in trouble.

No, correction. That _he _was in trouble.

I moved away from Rachel, hoping to diffuse the situation.

"Quinn, just..." Rachel said, trying to keep a grip on my hand. I released hers. She looked at me like she was hurt, or like my removal of my hand from hers had physically injured her.

I felt a twang of pain resound like a clashing symbol through my chest. I never wanted to see that look on her face again, and felt the instant need to make it better. Like it was hard-wired into my brain. Like it was a _part _of me.

I took her hand back in mine.

"Are you two, like, _dating _or something?" Finn spat. "Because that's _disgusting._"

"Finn, we are _not _dating-"

The rest of her words faded out.

I felt myself falling.

"_Disgusting, filthy animal!" a man shouted, holding her down with strong arms and legs. He sat atop the prone blonde, pinning her down to the concrete below. _

"_Help!" she wailed._

"_You killed six of my people! Six!" he yelled, slapping her in the face. "I should report them for this. All of them. You are supposed to be monitored, damn it. You're freaks, all of you, and we were stupid to let this continue. No worries. I'll fix you."_

_The blonde kicked her arms and legs, she fought, she felt a surge of energy course through her like lightning in her veins._

_Then, her entire demeanor changed. _

_Her body went slack._

_Her body went numb._

_Her body stopped moving._

"_What, given up?" the man taunted. "I thought you were better than that. I thought you were supposed to thrive under these kinds of pressures. I thought you were a weapon. They gave you fancy powers, but they what-forgot your fighter's spirit?"_

_He looked down at her, and saw her eyes. Still open. They were bright yellow, pulsing with energy. Her skin was deathly pale, like a corpse. Her facial muscles, all slack, added to the dead appearance. _

"_Heart attack," the man said. He rolled off of her, then clicked his tongue. "Just like the other specimens. That's it, then. No more."_

_He stood up to move, but as soon as his legs straightened to support his weight, he felt like he had been beaten with a sack of hammers. The body now latched to his back, snarling like a feral animal. She lunged forward and attached herself to his back, tearing a chunk of his shoulder loose with her teeth. Blood sprayed against the wall, and she roared._

_With emotion. With delight. With something horrifying. _

_The man slumped to the floor, to his knees, and she followed. She moved his head aside like it weighed nothing, practically tearing it off his neck and flipped him over, like a limp rag doll. She placed her hand against his face and laughed, feeling the skin bubble, then melt off of his face. She stood up, kicking his body aside. Her white clothes were soaked in blood, though not a drop of it was hers._

_Then, her presence shifted again. She wrapped her arms around herself. She shook, trembling like a leaf. She looked at the corpse beside her, smelled the strong tang of copper in the air, and fought the urge to vomit._

"_Oh God... oh God, what have I done?"_

_A voice sounded from a faraway speaker. From somewhere she couldn't see._

"_Exactly what we wanted you to do, 22-B. Exactly what we wanted."_

Quinn jumped on Finn, knocking him to the ground like he weighed nothing at all, despite their difference in size. She growled softly in the back of her throat, then sized him up. Her eyes raked across his body, and then, as quickly as she knocked him to the ground, she raised a hand to deliver what was no doubt going to be a devastating blow.

She kicked back her fist, then launched it under his chin, causing a spray of saliva to erupt from his mouth. He whimpered helplessly, and tried to fight, to move away, but couldn't move. Quinn snarled, her body humming, awake and alive with power.

Her hand trembled.

Her muscles throbbed.

She reared her head back, preparing for one final, necessary blow and-

"Quinn," Rachel said, squeezing my hand gently.

I put Quinn back in her cage.

I kept her at bay before she did anything.

I saved this boy's life.

"Look at her, Rachel," Finn said, gesturing to me. "There's something not right about her. Everyone's talking about it, what she did to Karofsky... how fucking _terrifying _she looked. She's a fucking monster or something, Rachel!"

"She's my _friend!_" Rachel yelled.

Finn crossed his arms.

I released Rachel's hand. She looked at me again with those same, sad, helpless eyes.

I felt the need to stay.

I wanted nothing more than to stay.

But I couldn't.

I had seen the monster.

I had tasted it.

I couldn't, wouldn't keep that around Rachel.

"He's right," I whispered quietly.

"What?" Rachel asked.

I stood up, looked at Finn, who had a smirk etched onto his dopey features.

"Stay away from her," I warned him.

"Or what?" he asked, his voice low.

I leaned in, making sure that nobody else could hear even a syllable of what I was about to say.

"If you lay a single hand on that girl, I will tear you limb from limb. I will spend hours making you suffer, making you bleed, and making you pray for death. I will do things to you that you couldn't envision in your worst nightmares. Do you understand me, Finn?"

He gulped, then nodded.

I knew he knew that I was serious.

I was serious.

I couldn't lie.

I turned and walked away, trying to leave as quietly as possible. I didn't want to make things worse on anyone. I didn't want to make a scene.

All hopes of my being normal were lost now.

All hopes of me finding something real were gone.

I was too different to survive in a place like this.

To walk amongst people.

To be like them.

I made it outside the choir room, to the hallway, when I heard my name called.

Rachel.

I wanted to turn around, but I didn't.

I knew I was breaking my word. I remembered what I told her. I knew she'd see it as betrayal.

I felt a searing sadness that was worse than any pain that ever came from her touch.

"Quinn, _wait_!" she called.

She sounded so broken.

I couldn't stand it, so I turned around.

I waited until she walked toward me, standing perfectly still. I couldn't allow myself to take a step forward.

I couldn't close the distance, because I knew that if I did, I'd never get the strength to walk away again.

She stood with me, toe to toe, and looked up at me.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

"Why?" Rachel asked. Her bottom lip trembled. I could smell salt, and knew tears were about to fall from that perfect face. "Y-you said you wouldn't."

"I can't stay."

"Why not, Quinn?" Rachel asked again, more forcefully. "Because of Finn? Because of him? I'll talk to him. I'll make him be nicer to you, or leave you alone, or something. I'll do anything if it'll make you stay. Please, Quinn."

"It's not because of Finn."

"Then why?"

"I told you I was dangerous. I told you... and I told you I'd keep you safe."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm never going to hurt you, Rachel," I replied softly.

"Well, if you leave, you'll be hurting me. What then?"

I brought my hand up to cup her cheek. I felt it burn again, a searing pain that rocked me to the very center of my being. I gritted my teeth. I fought hard. I needed this.

I could take the pain.

"This kind of hurt is a necessary hurt, Rachel."

"I don't know what I'm feeling for you," Rachel said, choking back sobs before the tears fell. She fell forward, into my arms. "It's so fast, so sudden... but I've never, ever felt like this, and I thought, you know, I'd at least get a chance to find out what it was. To try. And now you're just leaving?"

"For now."

"For how long?" Rachel asked.

I didn't have an answer for that. But I couldn't stay. Not until I had more answers.

"I don't know."

"What can I do to make you stay?"

"You can't do anything."

"So this is goodbye?"

"Yes," I said simply. It was final. It was devastating. I felt the hurt she was feeling on top of my own.

The tears fell, streamed down her face.

I clutched her tight to my chest. I let her cry against me.

I felt like she was ripping me apart from the inside.

I felt like I was dying.

The pain was unbearable, but I wore it like a badge.

If this was goodbye, if this was possibly the last time I was going to hurt because of Rachel Berry, I was going to savor it.

"B-but I just found you," Rachel sobbed.

"Technically, I found you. You've always lived here."

"Will you ever come back?"

"I don't know."

Rachel slumped back, then nodded.

_Don't go. Stay with Rachel. This is where you belong._

The voice was solid, commanding.

He was so loud within the confines of my skull that for a moment, I wondered if I'd go deaf.

I was always supposed to listen.

One of the first things he told me was always to listen. To obey without questioning. To do what he asked, because it was what I needed to survive.

Humans made their own decisions. They acted for themselves, they forged their own paths.

If I was ever going to be one of them safely, that was the first lesson I had to learn.

I took a step back, then turned and walked down the hall.

_Turn around, Quinn. Go back to her. Now!_

I kept walking.

Then, walking turned to running.

And I didn't look back.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I know, I know! Quinn's leaving, and it's really sad, but I promise that there is a reason for everything. Also, because she's leaving, there is this chapter. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go this direction originally, but when I was storyboarding, I decided to stick with the dream, because it was an epic dream. Thank you so much for the amazingly kind words and the excellent reviews. I hope that even though there's more confusion and sadness coming, this eases at least _some _of it before you get sad and teary again. **

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><p>Suddenly, my apartment was too big. I owned too many things. I had too much to do, too many things to take care of, and all I wanted was to get <em>out. <em>My thoughts were a wild jumble, and I could feel an insistent pounding in my chest that I sensed was emotion trying to get the best of me. I couldn't focus on trivial things. I could not let it win.

The voice had grown quieter during my drive home. Although I had never been certain about how much it knew of my thoughts or my actions, it was almost like it had given up. His commands ceased after one or two more attempts to get me to turn around or stay.

I wasn't going to listen, no matter what he had to say.

All I needed was safety, security, answers.

I needed to know that Rachel was safe. From me, especially. Quinn still purred gently in my head, like a hungry tiger waiting to be fed. She had wanted a taste of Finn's jugular. She wanted to attack him. She wanted him dead. I could feel it, and I knew that I had come inches from doing something that all the logic and reason in the world couldn't fix.

I had the upper hand, being logical. The fact that I lived constantly within myself, introspective and alert to the slightest change in Quinn kept me from trouble. It kept me from unleashing my monster in public, from showing everyone, including Rachel, what was hidden just beneath my surface.

She said she wouldn't be afraid.

She said those things, and all the words were so beautiful, so marvelous on my aching ears, and I never questioned their sincerity. I could read Rachel, I could understand Rachel, and I knew that she was honest. Almost to a fault. Almost as honest as me. But, she was still living in darkness. She was not privy to my thoughts, she couldn't see what I had seen.

She didn't see Quinn killing Finn.

She didn't see the visage of her friend, her confidant, reveling in the extinguishing a life. His life. Someone she had once cared for, and perhaps still did care for. That, I suspected, would push her over the edge and turn me into something that she could not befriend. Could not trust.

And I couldn't blame her.

It pained me to leave. For the first time, I felt a searing sort of weakness, like I had gone without food or water. It was like the air was crushing in on me, becoming thinner, like my world was starting to collapse on itself.

I had to muster up every bit of energy, every bit of strength, even Quinn's strength, despite her protests, to walk away from Rachel and propel myself out of the school, into my car, and continue driving all the way back to my apartment.

I had stopped twice.

Quinn almost turned the car around.

Quinn almost brought me back.

But me, I never listened. I didn't let her win. I didn't listen to him.

All I could see was Rachel, and the horrifying image of one day, unleashing upon her and extinguishing that bright, beautiful flame that she wore like a candle.

That was my motivation.

That was my strength.

That was the reason for running. Even though I had always seen running as a viable, necessary option, it struck me as odd that I would turn away from it in the time I needed it most, and all because of one single, solitary being. One girl. One special, precious girl named Rachel Berry.

I gathered a few more bags, setting them down by the door and slid my laptop computer into its carrying case. I had paid rent for the next three months... perhaps I would come back by then. If not, someone would find something to do with what I left behind. There was nothing to determine who had lived here, and I had given them no way to track me.

_Necessary things only. Pack light. Travel quickly. Always know your destination. Always have a plan. Always have a secondary plan. Always be prepared._

I recalled more of the voice's advice, and knew that even though I had broken one of his direct orders, I was still following his lead. Except my destination. I wasn't sure where I was going. I figured I would travel North, toward the next state line, and move from place to place. I hoped dreams would bring me more answers. I hoped the voice would eventually take pity on me and understand what I was trying to accomplish.

I hoped he understood that something was so important to me that it caused me to leave Rachel, even though he and I both knew I was meant to stay.

I think that above all else, that was what hurt the most, truly.

That I knew I was supposed to stay.

That after so long, after so many days of wondering where I belonged, I had actually found it, and still had to run away.

I had to be the bigger person.

I had to be a hero.

I wasn't sure how to be a hero. I didn't have tons of research to back my initial assessment of what a hero was by definition. Just baseline facts, and lots of movie footage flitting about in my brain, along with the rest of the clutter. However, the more I knew about my abilities, the less I felt like a hero. I actually started to feel like perhaps I was the villain in the story of my life.

And Rachel, well... Rachel was clearly the Mary Jane Watson. The princess in her tower. Maybe she was convinced I was a hero, but I knew better, and I knew that the Mary Jane shouldn't, and wouldn't end up choosing the hero. Trusting the hero.

Loving the hero.

No, there would certainly be _none_ of that.

I took one last look at the bags by my front door. I did an internal check, making sure that I had everything I would need for my voyage, just in case I never came back to Lima, Ohio. That simple thought sent a chill down my spine and a sadness in my heart that struck deep. I felt the fingers of it clutch me and hold tight, keeping me to its chest, and fought to breathe. When I did, I noticed that it was shallow, shaky, not sturdy or practiced like my logical self normally was.

I stared at the door.

I stared at it like it was the last, most fearsome barrier standing between me and answers. Me and freedom. Me and a life of uncertainty, with no direction and seemingly no purpose.

It was my adversary.

And I was stuck.

Then, almost as if I willed it to happen by the sheer force of my own mind, I heard a pounding at the door. I continued to stare wondering if this, too, was going to sprout a voice and a persona simply to stand in my way. This, a seemingly inanimate object was determined to shake me from my thoughts, keep me from my rational mind by banging loudly in my general direction.

I crossed my arms when the sound stopped.

I stared again.

And the banging happened moments later. Three knocks, then a pause, then a series of two.

I hadn't studied up on Morse code. Perhaps there was something to be learned. I must have been missing a message. Something important, possibly. The answers I needed?

"Quinn, open up!"

No.

No.

My heart sank.

_Rachel. _

How did she know where to find me?

"How did you know where to find me?"

There was a pause.

"I might have followed you from the school. Don't be mad. If you're truly intent on running, I'll do my best to respect that, but please just open the door."

Her voice sounded defeated, but it was colored with a hint of tenacity. Of bravery. Of sheer stupidity, perhaps. I wasn't entirely certain.

"You followed me?"

"I know what your car looks like."

I suppose I did set myself up for that one, in a way.

I let her get too close.

And now, she wasn't going to leave it alone. Or me.

"I can't open that door, Rachel."

I took a step back and committed my footing to the wood floor.

There was silence, and I heard her sigh.

"Is it stuck?"

"No."

"Is there something barricading the side you're on so you can't reach it?"

I wasn't sure where she was going, but I could keep answering her ridiculous questions. It kept me away from doing what I really wanted, after all.

"No. There's no barricade."

"Then you can open the damn door, Quinn," Rachel said sternly. "I'm not going anywhere until you do."

Damn it.

I felt the muscles in my forearms twitching. My hands were reaching for the doorknob in my mind, but I refused to let them act as their own agents. I refused to give in, not when I had conjured up the strength to go this far. To disobey so much. To act as my own person, with free will, who wasn't tied to other people and disembodied voices.

My ears perked up, and I heard her sigh again.

"Please, Quinn. Please just open the door."

Her voice cracked, gone was the force she had before. Gone was any last trace of resolve. My heart ached like it was being torn apart like a thousand pieces of paper, fated to become confetti that would find its way to the ground.

My defenses slipped.

My feet moved forward.

Quinn was not controlling me this time. No, this was all my own betrayal.

My hand moved for the doorknob, and within seconds, I had it open. I looked down and saw Rachel, arms wrapped around herself, shielding herself from the slight chill the wind carried. Tears were streaking down her face, like she hadn't stopped crying since I left her in the hallway outside the choir room.

"You're still crying," I pointed out.

"I kind of can't stop," she replied.

"Why can't you?"

Rachel sniffled, then wiped at her tears with the back of her hand.

"Can I come inside, or are you going to force me to stand out here like a pathetic loser and pine for you?"

I moved aside, and motioned for her to enter my apartment.

I could not say the words.

I could not give her that.

I closed the door behind me, and felt that my apartment had now gone from being entirely too large to not having enough room to house the both of us.

"I apologize for the mess," I said instantly, reciting part of my script. So many people apologized, as a rule, for the disarray of their home when they had guests. I didn't want to be different.

"You barely own anything," Rachel replied.

"Oh."

"I still don't know why I followed you here, exactly," Rachel said, her hands falling to her side. Her voice was still, like a lake, but tense, like the lake was waiting for someone to toss a pebble into its serene surface and cause ripples. I could sense it coming.

"I can't tell you why you did that, either."

"Damn it, Quinn!" Rachel exclaimed, tossing her hands about.

I winced. I clenched my jaw. I waited.

"Why did you have to do this to me?" Rachel asked, distraught. Her tears returned, and her voice turned to house a series of sobs as she spoke. I could hear each and every inflection, the ripples, they were numerous and deafening. "Do you think it's funny, or some kind of cruel joke? Do you enjoy playing with people's emotions because you don't understand your own? I always wanted a friend. I told you that. And you _gave _me that, and now you're just going to take it away from me."

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Rachel."

"But you _are_, and you can't even tell. You are hurting me, and apparently you're blind enough to think that you're, I don't know, doing what's best for me? By leaving, you are somehow doing what's best for me, is that what you think?" Rachel asked.

I quickly thumbed through my mind. It didn't appear to be a rhetorical question. I supposed that she needed me to produce some sort of answer.

"I am doing what's best for you."

"How are you so sure?"

"Truthfully, I'm not," I confessed. "But we went over this once. If you still need answers, I'll explain again. I have to go. I have to do something, for me, that does not involve you. Well, some of it involves you. But it's difficult, and very, very messy, and I don't want to put you in any danger."

"You're not dangerous!" Rachel shrieked. "Why the hell do you keep saying things like that?"

"I am! I'm something different, Rachel! Something bad, and I don't know what it is, but I'm afraid that if I stay, it's going to get worse and you're going to get caught in the middle of it, and I'm going to ruin you!" I yelled. My fists clenched. My teeth ground against each other, rows clashing in fierce battle.

I was angry.

This was anger.

Normally, when anger struck, Quinn was quick to follow. But now, she was silent. Not bad silent, like before... there was no storm brewing that I could feel. This was pure, driving emotion that was all mine.

Not Quinn's.

Mine.

"Ruin me?" Rachel asked quietly. "How could you possibly ruin me?"

"I could do much worse than that," I replied, just as softly. She took two steps toward me, and I caught a hint of something in her eyes. Something like defiance. She walked up to me, stood toe to toe, and looked into my eyes.

"You might think you're a monster, Quinn, but I don't see it," Rachel said.

I swallowed hard.

Her hand reached up to touch my face, and I felt her fingertips stroke my cheek. The burning pain came, flourished in a brilliance dance of light and color, then subsided to a gentle thrum of dull anguish.

"What do you see?"

I asked the question and felt the weight of it as it left my lips. Whatever the answer was, I had to know. Even if I wasn't ready.

"You frighten me, but not in a bad way. You frighten me because even though love was always something I yearned for, I've never been fully prepared for it," Rachel said with a whisper. "Not for the real thing, at least."

"Love?"

"Don't look at me like that, please," Rachel said, dropping her eyes. "I know, you probably think I'm crazy, that it's too soon, and what the hell, we're young, and I don't even know if you like girls, let alone me. How could you? You're perfect, and I'm just..."

"I'm not perfect."

"I think you are."

"I think _you _are."

"When I met you," Rachel continued, "I thought you were meant to be a friend. I thought that was the void you were meant to fill, in my life. But, when I came face-to-face with the real possibility of losing you, so soon, I felt the pain as something else. Because I think the place for you in my life is something much, much bigger."

"I don't know what that means."

Rachel looked at me, and tilted her head to the side.

"Then let me show you."

I saw her eyes flicker again, and before I knew it, her lips were an inch away from mine. I could feel her breath. I was aware of her hands wrapping around my neck, and she perched slightly on the tops of her toes.

I had to stop this.

The fire... if she touched me like this, I feared it would burn me alive.

There would be nothing left.

"Rachel, I..."

She placed a finger to my lips, and I saw a hint of a tear fighting to hold on instead of falling down the beautiful pathway of Rachel's gorgeous face.

I couldn't fight any longer.

Rachel leaned in and touched her lips to mine. She didn't move them at first, but was content to simply hold the contact. My breathing picked up instantly, and my lips felt like they were being licked by fire. I stood there, motionless. I didn't know how to respond. But, after a few moments, Rachel took the lead again and gently brushed her lips back and forth, trailing her razor-blade kisses over my lips.

I embraced the pain.

I loved it.

I needed it.

She broke away, and looked at me. I saw her looking deep and waiting for something, and saw the sadness when I didn't respond in a way that was, apparently, what she wanted.

"Quinn, kiss me back," Rachel begged. "Please, kiss me back."

She crushed her lips to mine again, a second attempt, but this time, I moved with her. Every time the wave crashed upon me, I tilted downward to accept it. Every time that fire fell across my top lip, I responded by adding the same pressure to her bottom. Her teeth nibbled at me gently, and I felt like a bullet had ripped through me, but I did not stop kissing her.

Her arms tightened, and when she moved forward, and I felt the full press of her body against mine, I responded in kind, clutching at her waist, touching things I wasn't supposed to touch. I pulled her in tight, and her kisses became more needy, more hungry, and sent fire all the way down to the pit of my stomach.

She pulled back the second time with a smile on her face, then moved in again to rest in the crook of my neck. She breathed, and I knew she was committing me to memory, just in case it was the last time.

For all I knew, it could be.

For all she knew, it was.

"Are you really leaving?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. I have to leave."

Rachel nodded, and I expected tears to fall again. I found myself surprised when they did not. Instead, Rachel took a step back, looking up into my eyes again, and her arms stayed around my neck. She grabbed my hands that had fallen slack to my sides and guided them with her own to place them on her hips, almost as if she realized that I hadn't learned to dance yet. In this world, I could barely walk.

"I'm not going to say goodbye to you, because you're going to come back."

I looked at her and furrowed my brow.

I wanted to know where she was getting _her _information, because that possibility was still shaded, at best, for me.

"You sound so certain," I pointed out.

"I'm saying that because I'm hoping for the best," Rachel explained. "Because, you see, I am young, naïve, and have spent entirely too much time with my head in the clouds. I believe in things like love at first sight and happy endings. So, because I believe in these things, I believe that you will come back. You have to."

"I have to?"

"Yes, you have to," Rachel said. She paused, then sighed, like she was about to bear another piece of her soul. I suspected she was, and even though I wasn't sure that I was ready to hold onto another piece, nor was I sure I deserved any, I readied myself for the catch. "I have a theory. I met you, and my heart started singing. _Singing_, Quinn. It's never done that. So, I spent sleepless nights in between dreams of you deciphering what that meant. And I've built a theory around it."

"What's your theory?"

"You just have to come back," Rachel said softly.

"You'll be here?" I asked. I felt my body leading, and I flexed my fingers against her body, causing her shirt to move up just a little, from friction, so they were touching skin. Her skin. I felt my body sigh with relief, having received what it wanted. I was still flummoxed, my head in knots, my heart in disarray, my apartment torn to pieces, and my life packed up in bags.

"I'll be right here, waiting for you," Rachel promised with a definitive nod.

"That's horribly unfair of me to expect of you, and surely there are others who—"

Again, her finger found its way to my lips.

"I'll be right here waiting, Quinn," Rachel reiterated. "I'm stupid and naïve, remember? And I've been patient, horribly patient. I've taken my knocks to the chin with grace, and I think the universe owes me this. So, perhaps this is just entitlement speaking, but I kind of need my little theory to prove correct."

"If that's what you need, then I will do my absolute best to return to you," I said. It wasn't a lie. I didn't promise her anything, because I wasn't sure I could keep any promises.

"Okay," Rachel said softly. She took a step back. I missed her instantly. "Do you need help carrying your things out to your car?"

"I've got them," I said, nodding to my bags. There were three, total. "I don't have much."

"Okay," Rachel said again.

We walked to the door, and I grabbed my bags, looping two together and slinging the other over my shoulder so there was a hand for her to hold. I locked my apartment behind me and shuffled to the side, by the front window, and paused over the hideaway latch in the wood. It was a secret panel I was instructed to build when I first moved in, to keep a spare key that nobody would find.

"Will you miss me terribly?"

Rachel's eyes searched mine, and she nodded.

I opened the latch, essentially showing her my secrets, and pulled out my spare key. I pressed it to her hand, and she smiled softly. I saw wonder in her eyes, and felt that it needed explanation.

"When you feel that I'm very far away, you can come here if it will help ease the pain for you," I said quietly. "But please, don't share this place with anyone."

"I wouldn't," Rachel said. She held the key against her heart for a moment, then slipped it into her pocket and held my hand again. "All your secrets are safe with me."

"I trust you," I said.

It was true, I did. Completely.

We walked to my car, and I threw my bags in the back seat. She paused, swayed in her spot, and looked lost.

"Tell me your thoughts?"

She smiled in a way that betrayed what I suspected to be in her head. She smiled, almost like she was feeling happiness instead of sorrow.

"I'm just thinking about my demands of you when you return," Rachel said.

"Really?" I asked.

"Yes," Rachel replied. "Will you do something for me, Quinn?"

I felt a pull in my stomach. There was the uncertainty, lingering beneath the surface. I never liked uncertainty. I wasn't sure how to live up to expectations, or to ensure that what I was committing to would come to pass.

"If I'm able, I will do my best to give you what you want."

"When you come back, and you _will _come back," Rachel said, obviously trying to convince herself as well as cement the idea into my own mind. "I want you to kiss me again. The moment you see me, no matter who sees. Can you do that for me?"

I smiled.

"Yes."

"Well then, get on with you," Rachel said, swallowing hard. She was fighting the urge to start crying again. I placed my hand on her cheek, and it seemed to comfort her. However, one lone tear did fall, and she looked up into my eyes. "Go save the world, Quinn. I'll be waiting right here."

_Go save the world?_

I dropped my hand to hers, held it one more time, and prayed it wouldn't be the last before I let go.

I got in my car, started the engine, and drove away.

As soon as Rachel was completely out of sight, I heard the voice again.

_Come on now, Quinn – was that really worth it?_

Immediately, I blocked him out.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So, you wanted answers. So does Quinn/22-B. Here are the answers I promised. Not all of them, naturally, because that would mean the story was almost over. Some of you guessed it pretty close, and one person got ALL the answers correct (even some of the ones that haven't been revealed yet). Which was another hint. And the plot thickens. The next chapter will get back into Rachel/Quinn's relationship: how will they handle things after that heart-wrenching goodbye? As always, your reviews mean the world to me. I appreciate your thoughts, your comments, everything and anything you have to say. It's inspiring, and helps me to create a better story for all of you to read. With all that verbosity out of the way, please enjoy.**

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><p><em>You're set on doing this, aren't you?<em>

I had been driving for three hours. My eyes were starting to get blurry, I was starting to feel a sort of exhaustion pass over me. I had read stories of how sometimes, when humans had intense emotional situations or excessive stress in their life, it could result in premature exhaustion. Although I still subscribed to the theory that I was something not quite human, and my dreams and the pieces of my memories that I was privy to did support this theory, I wondered if perhaps this exhaustion was due to an emotional cause.

The voice had been taunting me since I left my driveway, asking me questions that I ignored, telling me to turn around, threatening me. Those were the most interesting. I didn't quite know what to think of them. I wasn't sure if I should be taking them seriously, expecting to find someone along my way that would either put me back in captivity, which was where I assumed I had been before, or do something to my brain that would reset me and I'd have to start this path all over again.

I replayed some of the threats in my head, weighing them for validity.

_You were nothing before me, you know. I made you._

_I just can't wrap my mind around how I gave you everything, and you're turning away from it because what, you need answers? You'll get answers, in time, but you have to play by my rules first._

_I could take her away, you know. I could make sure you never, ever see Rachel again. Is that what you want?_

I flinched and gripped the steering wheel a little harder. That was the _last _thing I wanted. It had been forty-five minutes since the threats stopped and now, as I kept driving, the voice seemed to be headed toward complacency. Almost as if it... he, really... knew what I was doing. He understood that I would not be torn from my path, and it wasn't because I was craving defiance. This was not teenage rebellion. I was too logical for that, and if his statement about being my Creator of sorts was true, then he would know my logical mind, and should possess the ability to see things from my perspective.

"Where am I going?" I asked aloud, hoping that this was the proper way to communicate with him. Quinn had been silent for so long, I guessed she probably wasn't needed, so she resigned herself to the background, just waiting for the next time I needed help, assistance, an alibi, or protection. Driving made me think about a number of things, and I thought that I understood her place now. She was my foil. She could do things I could not.

There were still questions concerning her in my head, but with any luck, I'd find a place where every question, all my curiosities, could be satisfied.

_I'm not on board with this._

"You don't have a choice," I growled. "Where am I going?"

I had never spoken to him like that before.

I waited, finding the silence to be smothering. It felt a little like failure, like perhaps I really would have to go this alone. I turned my back on him, I abandoned Rachel, and I pushed Quinn into the role of a submissive second-fiddle by taking her controls away. I had alienated every one of my friends, despite how friendly they truly were. Now, there was a chance that I would end up completely alone.

_North. Keep going North. There's a factory outside of Cleveland._

"Is it visible?"

_The factory is visible, but it's legitimate. Where we're going is underground and very, very secret. It'll be difficult for you to even get inside._

"I'll just have to manage, then, won't I?"

_No. I'll help you. Because even though I do not agree with what you're doing, you won't get inside without my help. I helped you once before._

"When did you help me?"

I felt a lightness in my chest, a beacon of hope.

_I helped you escape._

My chest tightened. The voice had given me freedom. He had set me upon this path, and even though he hadn't been forthcoming with my answers and peace of mind, I could not even begin to imagine what I'd still be going through if he hadn't released me. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude, and nearly lost focus on the road for a moment. Traffic was nearly non-existent, so my blunder was unnoticed, but I quickly corrected the error. Then, I focused in, hoping that he would be able to hear the sincerity in my tone.

"Thank you."

_There was a greater purpose for you, Quinn. It was time for you to leave._

"What was the greater purpose?"

_Keep driving North._

He remained silent for the rest of the drive. I stopped once for gas, then made my way down an abandoned highway with poorly marked signs and followed it to the very end of the road. There ahead of me, with heavily billowing smokestacks, was a factory. It was old, but looked to be well-maintained, as though people would still be working there, doing normal jobs on a daily basis. I suspected this was the case. It was a perfect alibi. Hiding in plain sight. A wolf in sheep's clothing. I wondered for a moment if all the factory employees were aware of what could possibly be going on underneath their floorboards. Perhaps they were oblivious. Perhaps they were double agents of sorts, working in both parts of the facility to maintain normalcy.

_Leave your car here. The coverage from the trees will make it less visible. You'll have to be on foot for the rest of the journey._

I parked immediately, moving my car as close to the trees as I could without putting myself in a position where I'd get stuck.

"How far?"

_Three miles. Run the distance. You can. Stay close to the brush, don't make eye contact with anyone if you do see them, and stay quiet._

So I ran. I felt my feet kicking up dust and dirt as I raced across the trees, along the battered road. My breathing didn't hitch. My legs weren't tired. I didn't feel the strain of running three miles, it was as if running had been programmed into my body, an ability all my own. When I ran, I felt faster. I felt like I was moving with the wind, almost like flying. My feet kicked harder against the ground, propelling me forward until the voice screamed at me to stop. I looked around, but saw nothing. I had run past the factory, and ended up somewhere behind it. Nobody had seen me. There was nobody around.

I looked behind the factory, in the clearing where I was currently located.

_Do you see that well?_

I looked forward, forcing my eyes to focus, and saw what looked like a well just a few yards ahead of me. It stuck up out of the dirt, rock and cement. Sturdy. I walked toward it.

Against the backside of the brick, there was a large crack that ran through the structure. I looked closer, then realized that the crack was compromising the entire well; if there wasn't something behind it, keeping it up, everything would crumble.

"It opens, doesn't it?"

_Yes. Go inside. _

"What's down there?"

_You wanted answers. Go inside. I'll be waiting, Quinn._

I pressed my hand against the crack, and heard it shift and creak. I lodged my fingers under the sides of the crack and tugged, hard, and felt something release. The crack opened, like a door, and below, I could see only darkness. I sat on the ground and put my feet into the darkness, feeling nothing beneath them. I shifted, hoping that perhaps I would feel stairs. There were none. I moved my hands down a little, looking for the top of a ladder or anything that would make me more secure about going inside.

Again, there was nothing.

"How far down is it?"

_How far are you willing to go for your answers? Take a leap of faith, or turn back and go home. You weren't ever supposed to come back to this place._

"And what, be content living in the dark where I have no absolutes or security in what I am? You want me to get close to Rachel, you wanted me to stay with her, but I cannot be near her with a looming fear that I could hurt her," I said sternly. "I wouldn't ever want to lose control and do something I couldn't take back."

_Jump, Quinn. _

"How far down?"

_Do you trust me?_

I braced my hands against the inside wall, and found a handle on the backside of the door. I closed it, and used the force of the door to propel me forward, into darkness.

* * *

><p>I woke up in a white room.<p>

I looked down at myself, afraid that I was reliving my nightmares. I was still wearing the clothes I left Lima in, that much hadn't changed. I rubbed my eyes, feeling them focus, but their heavy feeling made me feel that I had just woken up from a deep slumber.

I couldn't remember anything from when I jumped.

I looked down at my legs. They were cut and bleeding, but not too heavily.

I tried to find a window, anything that would let me find any sort of solidarity, but there was none. The walls stretched up forever, and because of the white color, I could barely even tell the dimensions of the room. It could have been vast, and it could have been tiny. I moved backward until I felt my back flush against the cold wall behind me and pulled my knees to my chest.

Just like in my dreams, I tried to reach out for contact.

"Hello?"

A whirring sound started, and then a voice... _the _voice sounded, but from some sort of speaker, not from the inside of my head this time.

"Oh good, you're awake."

"What did you do to me? I thought you wanted me to trust you," I demanded, feeling the emotions start to surge. I felt Quinn wake up. I felt the beginnings of anger, could feel my blood heating up, but swallowed hard and closed my eyes to force it down.

"I see you're doing better with your control," the voice said.

"You're not answering my question. What did you do to me?" I asked, trying my best to stay calm.

"I did what I had to do to ensure that you made it inside," the voice replied. "Do your legs hurt? You took a hard fall."

"No, I'm not in any pain," I replied honestly.

"Good," the voice said.

"How am I supposed to find answers trapped in this room?" I asked. "I remember this place... I've seen it hundreds of times, in my sleep. Nothing good ever happens here."

"You can ask," the voice said. "I have all the answers you're looking for."

"I want to see your face," I demanded. I had to know who this mysterious voice belonged to, and I needed to look into his eyes while he answered my questions. I needed to have a conversation that felt natural in this most unnatural facility. I needed the human contact, so I could separate fact from fiction.

I needed to look into the eyes of my Creator.

"I'm afraid you can't, Quinn," the voice replied. "But if it's a more personal presence you're looking for, I can change into something more suitable and come down to the room with you."

"Alone?"

I heard his laughter. It was musical, joyous, and strangely familiar.

"Yes, alone. I know your abilities, and I know how they manifest. If you were preparing to kill me, I'd be able to detain you quickly enough to stop it from happening," the voice said. "I'm not afraid of you."

The speaker clicked off, and I sat in wait. I looked around trying to distinguish a door or entryway from the walls, but could barely tell a difference. I wondered how much money had gone into the creation of this place, if it was Government funded, if it was a giant experiment.

I tried to turn off my thinking, but could not.

I'd get my answers soon.

Soon.

I watched a piece of the wall fall away, then replace itself when a figure entered. He was tall, wearing all black, and a white mask over his face so I could not determine any natural facial features. The man was tall, strong looking, and appeared to be in excellent physical health. He wore gloves, and extended a hand to me. I looked at it, then took his hand in mine and allowed him to tug me to my feet. When I stood at my full height, I noticed that he was a good six or seven inches taller than me. He took a step back, then crossed his arms.

"My name is Marcus," he said. "And you are just as lovely as I remember."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Yes," Marcus affirmed. "But, it's not meant to be anything more than a Creator admiring his handiwork. You really are remarkable, Quinn."

"What is this place?"

Marcus laughed, then dropped his arms to his sides.

"No formalities, hmm? Well, I suppose I should have grown to expect that. It is your logical self I'm dealing with. There's a reason I made it the primary reactor."

"Don't get ahead of me," I retorted. "I don't wish to be distracted."

"This place... this place is owned by the United States Government, specifically an underground, secret branch of the military that specializes in the making of new weapons to give us the advantage during wartime," Marcus explained. "About six years ago, there was a call for the creation of Supersoldiers, humanoid beings that would possess certain abilities along with other advancements. For example, you could run for days and never tire. You could go weeks without food or water. You could let what you call Quinn, or your primal self, take over entirely and destroy an entire army on your own."

"So, she's a part of me?"

"There are two parts of you. There is the primal self and the logical self. Most Supersoldiers are controlled by the primal self, because they are, in essence, weapons. Each Supersoldier has different abilities. We've experimented with and given specimens everything from super strength and telekinesis to thermal radiation and x-ray vision. The military tells us what skills will be useful, and we develop them."

"How many Supersoldiers exist?"

"Currently, there is a small unit of twelve stationed in Cryogenesis units in this very facility. When and if they are needed, they will be released into military custody," Marcus explained. "The rest of them didn't survive."

"And I escaped," I stated.

"Technically, I let you go," Marcus retorted.

"How can I hear you in my head?"

"Because of your purpose, it is important that Supersoldiers are equipped with a fixture that allows for constant communication and orders from superior officers. I kept our line of communication open, but gave you something that the others do not have: free will. You can function on your own. Because your logical self is the primary reactor in your case, you can choose to ignore my commands. Which you obviously did, or we wouldn't be here."

"What other abilities do I have?"

"You are still developing," Marcus said. "I built you differently than any of the others. I made you stronger. I'm honestly surprised that you survived all the biological changes I made to your system, and all the tweaks that happened to the original Supersoldier programming. You are my greatest creation."

"I melted a trash can lid at school," I said. "With my hands. I'm very strong, and there are these horrible headaches sometimes, and I can't help but sense that when they happen, something else is about to trigger."

"Ahh, so you've almost finished," Marcus said. "The trash can incident was due to your thermal radiation. You can raise the temperature of any subject you touch to its boiling point, despite its composition. You've... used that particular ability as a weapon many times."

"I killed people."

"Well, your primal self did," Marcus explained. "As I'm sure you've realized, there is a difference."

"Yes. A big one, although it still makes me afraid that I'll hurt people, too. People that I care about."

I heard a humming noise from behind the mask, and could sense contentment. I was quite certain that if I could look behind the mask, Marcus would be smiling.

"You are also stronger than all humans and most of the other Supersoldiers. The headaches are a precursor to telekinetic powers, which should be nearly developed if they haven't already. You haven't moved anything yet?"

"Not that I recall."

"You will, in time."

"Was that weaponized, too? My telekinesis?" I asked.

"It depends on who is using it," Marcus stated. "The logical side of you, this side, is not violent. You act upon logic, although I sense that there are emotions in you now that were not present previously. However, the primal side, is the side that will weaponize any and all of your abilities. You will use them as devices, as skills, as logical, useful things."

"I'm not a monster?" I asked, feeling a little more secure with all the new information, although it was a struggle to process.

Marcus sighed and moved forward to place a hand on my shoulder.

"If you were a monster, I would not have let you out of this facility," Marcus said simply. "I would have destroyed you."

"Why did you make me different?" I asked. "Why am I so special?"

"Your purpose is not to be a Supersoldier," Marcus said. "You were given a different initiative; a different purpose, if you will. Every Supersoldier has their reason, and this reason fuels every action they do, every step they take. Everything they do is to satisfy this purpose."

"What is my purpose?"

"You'll figure that out on your own," Marcus said. He put his other hand on my shoulder, and I was closer to him now than ever before. I looked at the mask, noticing that the holes were open so I could see his eyes. I squinted, tried to focus, and saw his eyes behind the darkness. They were a light, jovial brown. A deep, warming color that made me feel safe instantly.

I had only felt that once before.

With Rachel.

"Do I know you?"

"Only from my voice," Marcus said gently. "We've never met in person until now."

"What do you know about Rachel Berry?"

Marcus dropped his hands from my shoulder.

"I don't want to talk about Rachel," he said.

"I came here for answers, and you said you'd give them to me," I pressed.

"There are no answers to give you on that situation. Your origin, absolutely. Your abilities, the history about this place, all are valid concerns. We've established that you're not dangerous, and only are a threat in your primal form. You'll have to learn to control that. Your mission is still to adapt to human life."

"Why am I to adapt to human life?"

I could feel a chill from his presence.

"I did a bad thing in creating you," Marcus said. "It was unethical, given the reasons as to why I made you exist. When and if they ever find out about your existence, they'll come for me. They'll want to destroy everyone and anyone who is involved with you, and you as well. Your best bet is to blend in."

I paused.

I fought my instincts.

I fought for control, to listen to the tiny voice that was giving me direction.

"There is more to this, more that you aren't telling me."

"I've told you enough already," Marcus said.

I crossed my arms, feeling bolder.

"What happens now?"

"You go back to Lima."

"I just got here," I said.

Marcus looked down, almost out of shame. I felt my insides clench, like there was something horribly wrong.

"Quinn," he started gently. "You've been here for nearly a month. I've kept you stationed in a separate, secret Cryogenesis unit for monitoring and additional testing. But all your vitals checked out, you're strong as ever, and now, I feel you are truly prepared to deal with the real world."

His words slipped into a blur, and I felt my world begin to go dark.

"You're falling asleep again, but this time, when you wake, you'll be outside your car. When you wake, you are to head straight home, to Rachel... where you belong."

My eyes became heavy, and although I fought, the war was lost, and I fell into a deep, unshakable sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This chapter made me kind of emotional. For some reason, I'm finding myself getting more and more invested in this pairing. This story, this world, although it is enchanting, is exhausting. I hope the rapid updating isn't sending anyone for a tailspin. I'm happy to read all the reviews and I'm glad that this is well-received. As a storyteller, it is important to me to bring other people into the worlds I create. Thanks again for your kind words. Please, keep sharing your opinions, keep asking questions, because each and every comment helps me develop this into so much more than a random, weird dream I had. With that, please enjoy. I look forward to your reviews. **

**A/N (Part Two): I was listening to my Mumford & Sons Pandora station when I was writing this, and their song "White Blank Page" really inspired me for this one. I'd highly recommend it to anyone who hasn't heard it, and if you'd like, you might give it a listen while reading the reunion scene.  
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><p>I barely had time to focus; my vision was still blurry, my limbs and arms felt numb, unused, and I remembered that I had been in and out of sleep, held inside some state Marcus called Cryogenesis for a month. I had been away from my world, my reality, for a month, and now I had to return to the world I had been building.<p>

I felt like what I had experienced before in the white room had been a dream, just like the others. However, the lucid feeling of my memory was the only piece that made me positive that it wasn't. That had been my reality, once. Before I could remember, I had been caged, an experiment. I had been prodded, monitored, and subjected to testing. I felt like the wires were snipped, and I was finally free.

Thanks to Marcus. Even though I didn't completely understand him, I couldn't help but trust him and be grateful to him for my freedom. Although I never would have known the difference between this life and my last, I couldn't bring myself to think about what I would be like if I hadn't been created for a different purpose. If I hadn't been given a precious, sweet taste of humanity, and what it was like to walk among normal people.

I would be different. I would be a mindless automaton, subjected to orders and chaos and destruction. There would be no humanity in me, nothing for anyone to even begin to love.

I started the engine of my car and began to drive back down the deserted road, feeling my body shift with excitement, knowing that soon, I would be back amongst people and civilization, two things I had grown to respect and love, even if I didn't fully understand it. I thought back to the subject of love, what it was, and what it could mean. Especially what it could mean for me. If I hadn't been made differently, there would be nothing that existed other than a soldier and a weapon. There would be no redeeming factor, nothing for someone like Rachel to care for. And not a shred left of me to care for Rachel.

With her, I could find freedom. Apparently, it was meant to be. It was my place to stay at her side, even though I hadn't figured out what that entailed. I watched the road and kept driving, counting the hours and the miles in my head. I wished for Lima, longed for those quiet streets and friendly smiles.

I watched the road, keeping my eyes on the middle, even though there weren't many other cars. I watched the road, and my mind shifted, and suddenly, I saw Rachel's smile in my head. I tried to remember the last time I saw it, and found myself envisioning lunchtime. I remembered how our conversations had always been so easy, so natural, as if we had been speaking to one another our entire lives. I understood when I joined humanity that there was a natural lull to conversations, that it took time to cultivate a pattern of trust and mutual understanding, but a friendship was a work in progress. It never just happened.

I remembered how even from the beginning, Rachel liked to hold my hand. She liked to feel me touching her, pressed against her, she liked to revel in our closeness. I always tried to figure out the cause behind this, and the motivations that fueled her desire to keep me close, but had no reasonable solutions. Even though I felt that I understood Rachel Berry, there was still enough of her that was gray, neutral, and mysterious, and the fact that I wasn't able to puzzle it out intrigued me and made me want to search deeper.

I wanted to learn every nuance, every smile, and examine their differences.

I wanted to pull her apart and see the gears, then know their movements as well as I knew my own.

I wanted to understand more of her emotions that what I could target and feel. Even though if I tried hard enough, I could isolate her emotions, I wanted to know them as a human, not as someone who had a special ability. I wanted to know Rachel in the same way she was learning me, by careful consideration, observation, and time spent together.

My heart felt heavy, and I felt the pain of knowing that I had been away from her for an entire month wash over me like crashing waves on a helpless shore. The questions came, filtering through my mind in rapid succession.

Did she still miss me?

Did she spend time at my apartment, missing our closeness and friendship?

Had she been doing well in school?

My hand clenched against the steering wheel, and I gritted my teeth. I felt nervous about what I had the potential of facing when I returned. Rachel had confided in me that her experiences at school were rarely pleasant, that she was bullied and ridiculed on a semi-regular basis, at the least. With me gone, I figured that she could have been a target again. I remembered the dumpster, how lonely and embarrassing it felt to be tossed inside with the garbage. I never wanted Rachel to be subjected to that again, although I knew she had already survived it more times than any one person should have to. She had paid her dues, and those cruel humans just kept collecting more than she had. It sickened me.

When I got back, there would be changes.

When I got back, everything would be different.

The roads narrowed, and I turned onto the next road, maneuvering onto the highway. I saw the sign as it whizzed by, and felt the lightness from before in my chest.

**-Lima, 104 Miles-**

I did the math in my head, scheduling my arrival. I looked at the clock on my dashboard and made a quick decision to head straight to McKinley. I remembered the request Rachel had asked of me, and couldn't keep the smile off of my face.

If she wanted something so simple, I could arrange to give it to her. I knew that for many humans, love was a complex, terrifying thing that was so out of reach, so far from possibility, and for me, it just seemed like something that wasn't necessary to thrive or to exist. It seemed like it would interfere with my larger plans, but as I got to thinking about what Rachel had confided in me, the secrets she shared, I realized that her heart was on the line. She, as a human, was likely terrified by the complexities of love, yet she was so willing to extend the potential to someone, me, as I was leaving her, no less. She wasn't afraid to hope, to dream, to feel, and to tell me those feelings.

In me, she kept her secrets. And it was in that moment, when she looked into my eyes and I saw the glimmer of hope and trust along an unspeakable brightness, that I decided that if she'd let me, I'd be around to carry her secrets and her terrifying complexities forever.

Perhaps that was my purpose.

What a beautiful thing, to ease the burdens of life from someone as remarkable as Rachel Berry.

I did not believe in a higher power, for all I knew, one did not exist. There was no proof of anything being able to determine destiny or write stories for each of us that were fortunate enough to play the game of life. I went against the grain, a man-made concoction of chemicals and steam... a true Creation, not human, not biological flesh and blood, but synthetic strength. However, if any being, biological or synthetic could be blessed, I felt that my name would be on the list.

The miles faded, becoming numbers in my rear-view mirror.

My smile, however, did not fade. It refused.

I had missed Rachel, and had been missing her for so long, that it seemed like it would be forever until I saw her smile again or heard her voice speaking pure emotion into my ear. I still hadn't heard her sing.

But as the miles ticked away, one after another after another, I decided that if she was my purpose and forever was my future, missing her was worth it.

Because if I had my way, I'd never have to miss her again.

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><p>It was three o'clock when I pulled into the parking lot of McKinley High School. Tomorrow, I would have Quinn create a lie as to why I had been absent for a month, and I would work meticulously on reclaiming my place. I would take the good with the bad, I would live the ups and downs as any other human would. I would blend in. I would learn them, be like them, and be someone deserving of the human condition.<p>

But for now, I had only one goal: fulfill Rachel's request.

What a perfect moment, I thought, to give her what she had been waiting for. I wondered if she had been waiting, agonizing over the day I would return. Every morning, did she wake up and wonder if that day would be the one?

I could not recall thoughts from my slumber, and did not know if my brain was even active enough to form thoughts during Cryogenesis, but something deep down within me, on a primal level, where Quinn was seated, I knew that even if my mind hadn't been able to form thoughts, I had missed her with every part of me.

Even if she did not feel the same, I felt it for both of us.

The bell rang, and set my ears aflame. My body developed a tremor, excitement flooding my veins like quick-release poison, and I watched the double doors in the front of the school with a trained eye. A crowd of students erupted from the doors, scattering to every part of the commons, along the lawn, same as always. My eyes scanned each and every figure, waiting for the one that would set the final stage of her well-laid plans into motion.

I saw red jackets, and recognized Karofsky and Azimio in the crowd. For a moment, I considered ducking, laying low, in case they spotted me. A girl in a red uniform followed them, and a flash of yellow caught my eye. Santana and Brittany were headed to Santana's car, pinkies linked as always. I knew they could ruin my plans, set me off track, push me off course, but I was more than them. I knew what I was now, and even though I would not use my abilities in a negative way, Quinn still could and would. However, even with that knowledge, I did not feel out of control. I did not feel fear. I did not feel monstrous or concerned.

I felt powerful, but not as though I had obliterating power, even though I did.

I felt strong, but not enough to be destructive, although it wasn't outside my realm of possibilities.

I felt safe, and like I could be safe.

Now, I felt like all that was left was to find the life I wanted and take it.

Santana, Karofsky, and Azimio could try to destroy me and bring me down, but I would fight harder. Any firepower they threw my way, I'd find enough in me to turn it against them.

They wouldn't blemish my existence.

I wouldn't let them.

I held my head high and continued to scan the crowd.

I felt my jaw clench subconsciously when I spotted Finn in the midst of the crowd. He clutched his backpack strap over one shoulder, one hand wrapped around it as he strutted with his adopted, casual air of indifference. He thought this would give him the world. He thought he deserved the world. My eyes narrowed to slits. I knew otherwise.

I took a deep, cleansing breath when I felt Quinn stir. I relaxed, concentrating on each and every tense muscle in my body and forcing them to recoil, to calm. It wouldn't do to have her screeching in my head and detracting from the intense focus I needed.

But where was Rachel?

I allowed my eyes to follow Finn again when the original discomfort had ceased, and saw him smiling. It was a dopey, leering smile, but as I looked closer, I saw that it was attributed to laughter. My eyes shifted lower, and I saw Rachel walking at his side, gesturing animatedly with her hands and laughing along with him.

I felt the plastic of my steering wheel crack every so slightly within my hands, and recoiled immediately. It wouldn't do to break things. I examined my steering wheel, and saw the crack; it was a hairline fracture, at best, but there was no denying what it was, and what it meant.

Jealousy. Something I never thought I'd feel, but now that I had experienced it, I understood the potency and insanity very well. I gritted my teeth and tried to steady my breathing, but this time, there was no relief to be had. It held me tight, its dance partner in a series of dangerous, elaborate motions.

I exited my car, feeling my feet beat the earth underneath me with a furious pace. I walked toward Rachel and Finn, fire in my heart and determination in my eyes. I was going to keep my end of the bargain, whether she liked it or not. My ferocity scared me for a moment, as I had never felt this type of emotional surge before. I had never felt this out of control.

I was never supposed to allow myself, this part of me, to get this out of control. But I couldn't help it.

The earth turned to grass, which turned to pavement, and suddenly, I was within arm's length from Rachel, standing just behind her. I closed my eyes, held onto my hopes, and found my voice amongst the emotion and uncertainty that was keeping a tight grip on my composure.

"Rachel!" I called. I could hear the difference in my voice. It was strangled, longing, reaching out to her from a distance that my touch could not. I watched her freeze, her feet still like she had been rooted to her spot.

I watched Finn stop when he noticed that Rachel was no longer moving. He took a few steps back, and said something to her that I couldn't hear. I expected her to turn, but she didn't. Not immediately.

I stood in my place, and the crowd moved around me, allowing for my pause.

I tried to call her name again, but on my second attempt, no sound came out. I clenched my fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms painfully.

A horrifying thought hit me.

Had I been gone too long?

Was I too late?

Then, she turned, and I was faced with dark eyes that had haunted me for days and miles. The breeze kicked up around her, causing her ribbons of silky brown hair to fly around her, framing her and adding to her natural beauty. She saw me, and I watched her lips contort into a gentle, almost imperceptible tease of a smile. Her eyes closed, and her head tilted upward toward the sky, and then she lowered her head, opened her eyes, and found me again.

She was breathtaking. I stayed where I was until I realized that she wasn't moving, and since I wasn't, either, we weren't making progress. I caught a hint of defiance in her eye, and knew that she was testing me. Challenging me and pushing me, wanting to see how much I remembered, and just how far I would go for her.

I would walk through fire for her.

I would tear the heavens apart.

I moved forward until I was back within her immediate presence. I felt my entire body sigh, head to toe, expelling any agony and distance and insecurity.

I looked down into those eyes, and we both smiled at the same time.

"I've had this dream so many times," Rachel whispered. "Please tell me that this is finally happening for real."

"You're not dreaming, Rachel," I insisted, savoring how good it felt to say her name after all this time.

"You remembered what I asked for, don't you?" Rachel asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I remember it as if you asked me yesterday," I confessed. "I'm quite certain that you never left my mind."

Rachel sighed, and unconsciously licked her lips.

"So then here we are," she said, and I could tell she was nervous. I reached down, searching blindly for her hand, and when I found it and held it within my own, I no longer felt a burn. I felt warmth, her warmth, but not a trace of unwanted heat.

I leaned in, but before I could touch my lips to her, I felt myself ripped away by a bear-like hand. Angry eyes stared at me, and a jaw clenched.

"You stay away from her!" Finn yelled, giving me a rough shove that nearly knocked me off my feet.

I felt Quinn wake, heard the low snarling. I felt her power, and swallowed it down.

"Finn, you don't want to do this," I said, speaking calmly.

"I want you to get the fuck away from Rachel, freak," Finn replied.

"I'm not going anywhere."

He smirked, and Rachel stood still.

"I'm pretty sure you already did that," Finn growled. "Do you know what it did to her, when you left? I don't know what the fuck was going on between you two, or why you had to walk away, but she's been hurting, and it's all your fault."

I looked to Rachel, my eyes searching hers. She looked away.

"Rachel," I said softly. "You knew I was coming back... didn't you?"

"I thought it would be sooner. I thought I could wait longer, but then a week became two, and it's been months with no word, and I started to lose hope," Rachel admitted. I felt the pain, the burning pain from before, latch onto my heart. I felt my knees quiver, like I was preparing to fall. I wouldn't let myself. I would retain my composure.

I paused. _Months?_

"How long have I been gone?"

Rachel's eyes searched mine.

"I turned 17 last month. I blew out my candles, and wished that you'd come back to wish me happy birthday, and you didn't," Rachel explained softly. "It's odd, because you came here exactly one month after my 16th birthday, and that year, I wished for someone to change my life. To come along and make my life something different... something special. I think I wished for you."

"So I've been gone..." I started, then paused. I felt my stomach churn. There was no way.

Marcus said I had been gone a month.

One month.

Four weeks.

Thirty days.

That was no longer my reality.

I felt my body blaze, catch fire, even though everything appeared normal. Inside, I was raging. I was lost, swimming in a sea of emotions that were too much for me to handle. But I had to let them out. I had to let them out somehow.

"You've been gone nearly a year, Quinn," Rachel said softly, and I heard her voice choke up as she said the words, giving them life. "I thought you were never coming back."

"I don't trust her, Rach," Finn said, taking a step closer to Rachel. "Let's just go, okay? You don't need this."

I saw him reach for her hand, and every muscle in my body tensed for a moment, waiting for the contact.

Rachel shrugged him off slightly, but offered him a placating smile. I felt relief wash over me, and watched her closely. I examined her, raking my eyes over her, looking for changes. It didn't look like a year had passed us by, and certainly didn't feel like it. The sunlight shifted, and a flicker of metal, a shine from around her neck caught my eye. I followed it to a chain around her neck, and held my breath.

_That _hadn't been there before.

I clutched to my instincts and took a step forward. I watched Finn move to meet me, to block my path. Rachel looked at him and shook her head, and he took a step back, although his eyes bore into me, like he was daring me to do anything negative. As if I would hurt her.

Stupid, pathetic human boy. I'd rather die than hurt Rachel.

"What is that around your neck?" I asked. Rachel blinked once, hard, then tilted her head to the side. I moved forward again, and reached for the delicate chain before she could stop me. I pulled up, removing the charm from where it was nestled snugly underneath her shirt. She gasped quietly, possibly because of how close I was, perhaps because of the fact that my fingertips brushed just underneath her collarbone when I pulled on the chain. My eyes darted over the necklace quickly, stopping when I saw what was on the end.

A key. _My _key.

"You kept this," I stated. "It's been almost a year, but you still kept this."

"Rachel, what is that?" Finn asked.

"Quiet, Finn," Rachel snapped at the tall boy. Then, her kind eyes turned to me. "Of course I kept it. It was my last piece of you."

I lowered my voice, knowing that people could possibly hear. However, I still spoke secret words in mixed company, so it startled me how little I seemed to truly care about things such as safety when my situation, my place with Rachel, was dangling precariously in the balance. Hanging on by a chain. A thread. Kept together by a key and a promise.

"Do you still... go?"

"Yes," Rachel said quietly, almost like she didn't want to admit it to me, or possibly even to herself.

"How often?" I pressed. I knew it was forceful, I knew Rachel was delicate, but there was something greater in me, greater things at stake, and I had to know. I had to.

"Quinn, do you really have to-" Rachel asked, and I caught the blush on her cheeks.

"Yes," I said, caressing the chain gently and keeping my eyes locked on hers. I touched that chain in ways that I could not bring myself to touch her. Not yet, despite how much I wanted to. That, also, came as a surprise. How much I wanted. How I wanted, and how I _could _want.

It was mind-blowing.

"I used to go every day," Rachel started. "But, I've been incredibly involved with Glee Club on top of my rigorous academic schedule. But I spend weekends there most of the time, and sometimes I'll go after school or late at night when I can sneak out of my house."

"Why?" I asked.

I knew the answer. I thought I did, but I had to hear _her _say it.

"You said... if I needed to feel close," Rachel said, emotions choking her up again as she tried to speak and keep the intensity of our eye contact at the same time.

"I never went that far away," I replied, dropping the chain gently and following it back down against her tanned skin. "Physically, yes, I was far, but my mind never left you."

"It felt like you were a thousand miles away," Rachel sighed.

"But now I'm right here," I said, my presence and voice strong for the first time since I stepped out of the car. I felt invincible. I stepped closer, breathing the same air as her, and took both of her hands in mine. "Right here."

Her eyes lowered, and I caught them gazing at my lips before faltering and finding me again. I caught the tears, wanting to ease her pain before they could fall this time. I wanted to ensure that she knew I wasn't leaving again, I wanted to cement it into her so she and I both could wear our devotion like a brand.

I needed her.

I wanted her.

It was more than I could handle, but at the same time, it was everything I wanted. With my answers came clarity, and although I hated that it took a year for me to come back to this place, to her, to us... I knew that it was entirely necessary.

"Rachel," Finn whined. "You can't just let her..."

"Shut _up_, Finn," I growled, shooting him an eyeful of razor-sharp daggers before gripping at Rachel's waist and pulling her in close. I rested my hands on the gentle slope of her hips, wanting to touch more, feel more, but couldn't bring myself to take things that far. I felt her ribcage expand, then contract with her staggered breathing, and again, she licked her lips.

"Quinn Fabray, what are you doing to me?" she breathed.

I leaned in and touched my lips to hers, and felt a surge of electricity pass through us. This time, I was more prepared for the contact of her skin to mine, and savored the feel of her plush lips pressing against mine. I released the breath I was holding against her lips and stroked her hips with my thumbs as she circled my neck with her arms. I could feel people watching. I could hear them whispering around us, but my cares were passed away when one of those delicate hands moved up, tangling themselves in the hairs at the base of my neck.

She made a little keening sound, and it lit my body on fire. Then, I felt a hot dampness splash against my cheek, and felt her body shake and sag in my arms. I pulled back instantly, recoiling, and searched her face, noting that the wetness was from tears that were now falling freely. Instinctively, I moved to wipe them away, and lowered my lips to kiss the paths they left. I tasted salt and the smoothness of her skin, and breathed her scent deep into my lungs, sparking the memories and keeping them safe, promising that I would never go without this again.

"Rachel," I whispered, continuing to gingerly wipe away her tears. I couldn't stand the pain. I'd cut myself open, leave myself bare, leave myself to the wolves if it meant sparing her an ounce of heartache. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"This isn't hurt, Quinn," Rachel assured me. "This is joy."

Joy?

How could tears equal joy?

I felt my face contort, and I fought to rationalize until I was broken free by quiet, soothing laughter. It warmed my insides, and her hands covered mine softly. Her fingertips traced the backs of my hands, and she looked up at me through long, perfect eyelashes.

"You're confused. It's okay," Rachel soothed. "Sometimes, people cry for good reasons as well as bad ones. I'm not sad, I promise. I've never been happier, really."

"I don't like when you cry," I whispered. She nodded, then leaned forward, allowing me to support her weight in my arms. I caught her easily, even though she didn't weigh much, not much at all; she was light as a feather. She shifted in my arms, sighed, then turned her head to the crook of my neck. I could feel her breath wash against my neck, could feel the words she expelled against me in gentle, staccato rhythms. It lulled me, soothed my soul, and kept me centered, completely tuned to her and our little universe.

"You've gotten stronger," she commented. "What were you doing?"

I paused.

Stronger?

I tilted my head to the side. I had more questions, I had more insecurities, but I did not want to dwell on them. I wanted to build my universe around Rachel and never know anything else. I never wanted to look back. I never, ever wished to return to the white room and the endless walls and the Cryogenesis tanks. I never wanted to be treated like an experiment or a Supersoldier again. I just wanted to be human.

I just wanted to be _hers_.

The answers could wait.

"Another time, okay?" I asked, hoping that she'd be more apt to let the questions settle between us, instead of pressing like I did. "I just want to enjoy being back home with you."

"I'm supposed to go straight home after school," Rachel said quietly. "Lots of homework. But, unless you don't want company, I could call my dads and explain the situation... I'm sure your apartment is as good a place as mine to do homework. As long as you promise not to be distracting."

She smiled, and this time, it was different. There were quiet embers behind the gaze, and a darkness in her eyes. It sent a shiver up my spine and caused my heart to start racing.

Quinn whispered in my ear, and I felt myself blush all over. Rachel grinned knowingly, and laced our fingers together.

"Rach, wait!" Finn called, jogging after us. His face spoke volumes, all of them expressing shock and disappointment.

"Finn, please don't make this difficult," Rachel asked.

"I just don't understand why you'd choose her, after all we've been through. After all she's done," Finn said, hanging his head. "I helped you when she was gone. I helped pick up the pieces, and I don't know, I guess I thought that once you stopped being sad, maybe we'd be able to try again."

"Except my heart never belonged to you," Rachel said quietly. "I'm sorry, but I can't give my heart away when I know it belongs somewhere else."

"I love you, though," Finn tried.

I bristled.

Love? He wasn't supposed to love her.

I tightened my grip on her hand, and she must have sensed the fire in me, because she soothed my skin with her thumb and made a quiet shushing sound.

I calmed down, like she held all the keys to me. Like she was the puppeteer, and I was her creation.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said again. I shook my head, signaling to her that she didn't need to keep apologizing. He was pressuring, making her hurt, and it made me want to demolish him.

"Rachel, _please,_" Finn said emphatically. "I'm trying to fight for you here."

"I never asked you to fight for me," Rachel replied.

"She said no, Finn," I chimed in. His eyes turned to me, and Rachel stiffened.

"Stay out of this," he leered. I dropped Rachel's hand, just like before, and stood next to him, toe to toe with giants, knowing that I had the advantage. This time, I had the control.

"She doesn't want you," I tried again.

"If you're so sure of that, you won't mind letting me figure that out for myself," Finn said. I raised an eyebrow and fought the urge to growl. That was Quinn, not me, and I had to stay in control. I had to keep afloat, or the consequences would ruin everything. They would take me from Rachel, and maybe even put her in danger, and I wouldn't, I couldn't have that.

"She said _no_," I said forcefully. "Did you forget what I said last time, before I left? It still stands, and I wasn't kidding. I'm the last person you want to piss off, Finn Hudson, believe me."

He sneered, and a slow smile twisted his normally vacant, benign features into something darker.

"I'm not afraid of you," Finn said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And as to Rachel, she'll see what she wants one day. She'll realize that she's supposed to be with me. I'll wait."

Before I could stop it, my hand shot forward and landed straight in the middle of his chest. I felt my blood boiling, heating up, and stared directly into Finn's face. He looked at me curiously, but did not remove my hand. I thought for a moment that he probably couldn't move it. That he was trapped, subjected to my mercy, and I still hadn't decided whether to show him any.

"Leave her alone," I said again. "This is your very last warning."

My palm continued to get hot, and I watched his face contort into something else, a pained, pathetic expression. His breath grew short, and I could feel his heart struggling to beat, as if the conditions were becoming painfully unpleasant. He gasped, fought for air, and struggled. His face darkened to a glowing maroon, but I still did not move my hand.

"Please," he gasped. "Hurts. Please. Stop."

When I registered the last word, I removed my hand, and watched as he stumbled backward, clutching his jacket and his chest. There were no visible marks, which would keep me safe. He looked at me one last time, then glanced helplessly at Rachel, who was looking on with uncertainty. He opened his mouth to speak, and I grabbed Rachel's hand, tugging her quickly to the parking lot, where I was parked.

"Let's go before he decides to make even more of a scene," I suggested. "You can call your dads when we get to my car."

"Okay, but Quinn, what did you-" she began to ask, but I silenced her with a gentle squeeze.

"Later, okay?" I asked, begging with my eyes. "Can't we talk about this later?"

She nodded, and followed me.

As she followed, I got the feeling that she would follow me anywhere.

That she wasn't going anywhere.

That she was mine, for keeps.

I had felt power before. I had power bleeding into my veins, governing my every movement, but she made it all seem watered-down and useless.

She jumped into my passenger seat and fixed me with a brilliant smile before reaching for her phone to make her call.

I felt another rush of emotion that sent me spinning sideways.

For humans, that was power. It was a different kind than what I held naturally, what had been given to me, but I was convinced that there was nothing greater.

I looked at her one more time, then smiled to myself. I started the engine.

There was no greater thing in the universe.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: YOU GUYS. I'm floored. Really. Really, floored. And it takes a lot to shock me. You guys are amazing, and I don't even know how to begin to thank you for all the great reviews. Here's the next chapter, with some good, old-fashioned (and only KIND OF strange) Faberry goodness. I hope you enjoy, and as always, I love hearing your thoughts, your comments, your speculations... every word adds fuel to the fire and keeps the ideas a turnin' for me. So please, take a moment and drop me a line. Whether you've been with me since the beginning or if you just hopped on board to this crazy train, I'd love to hear what you're thinking. Thanks again, and happy reading.**

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><p>Rachel had been coming to my apartment quite a bit; that much was clear when I first walked in. She had kept it neat and tidy, done some organizing. The couch had been moved, the living room revamped, and now it looked like someone was actually living here, even though there hadn't been anyone truly living there for a year. Rachel had spent some of her own money on a few things here and there – an organizer in my closet, toiletries for the bathroom, which caused an eyebrow raise on my part until she explained that sometimes, she stayed overnight and needed a shower in the morning.<p>

There were new sheets and a new comforter on my bed, in a blue plaid design. She said she picked it out with me in mind, otherwise it would have ended up pink and frilly. I was happy for her discretion and consideration to my personal tastes, even though I did admire her sunshiny attitude and color scheme.

Currently, we were seated on bean bag chairs (also a new addition) on either side of the coffee table in my living room finishing up our dinner. I had ordered in Thai food, since there were options in their cuisine that Rachel, as a vegetarian, could still enjoy. She was finishing up some vegetable noodle platter, and I stacked our plates and carried them to the kitchen.

"So hospitable," she chided with a wink. That simple action felt like a gunshot to my knees, and sounded just as loudly in my head. Yes, her winking had sound effects in my mind, and I didn't know what to do with myself. I walked to the kitchen and cleaned up our dishes. I heard her footsteps treading around my apartment, comfortable and at ease. She probably knew this place better than I did. It was more like home to her than it was to me, at least it had been.

"Rachel, what are you doing?" I called over my shoulder. I rinsed off the dishes and set them in the tray off to the side, allowing them to drip dry for a moment before toweling them off and starting to put them away. Rachel had organized my kitchen cabinets, too. She had put my perishable food items in the pantry, where they belonged, and set up proper shelving for my cups, plates, bowls, and the like, even though I didn't have much in that department.

I smiled.

She really was amazing.

"I'm getting my books together," Rachel called back. "Do you think you've got it in you to help with Spanish homework, or would you prefer I take my homework into the bedroom, so you can watch TV?"

I pondered this alternative for a minute. Truthfully, I wouldn't be much help with Spanish homework. I had barely gone to any classes. My stint at McKinley was short lived – I would have to devise some way to get back on track, perhaps forge documents of my education elsewhere during my year hiatus so I could advance to the next grade level with Rachel, instead of staying behind. That simply wouldn't do.

"I don't think I'll be much help with Spanish homework," I replied honestly.

Rachel showed up in the doorway of the kitchen and leaned against it. I put the last of the dishes away, then turned to face her. She was simply content to watch me, and had the smallest of smiles fixed on her face. She was studious, observant, and perfectly relaxed in her stance. I zeroed in on her emotions, and understood her contentment. I could feel it as waves, that peace that was driving her.

I smiled back, and she bit down gently on her bottom lip.

That was something else.

I didn't want to hone in on whatever emotion _that _sparked.

It would be nothing but trouble.

"Then I'll go into your bedroom, and you can watch TV in the living room," Rachel decided. "I can't have distractions, as much as I enjoy your company. I've managed to keep a perfect 4.0 GPA all year."

I nodded.

"Thank you for coming over," I said.

Rachel smiled again, that little half-smirk that let me know she was pondering her thoughts, collecting them and organizing them like she had done with my cabinets.

"As if I could stay away," Rachel replied. "Also, I've done a good bit of studying in this place while you were gone. Did you know that your bed is quite possibly the most comfortable piece of furniture in existence?"

I swallowed. Quinn perked up.

There was a strange feeling that caught hold of me, turning my joints to jelly and causing me to be slightly uneven on my feet. Normally, I was so solid, so graceful and centered with things such as motion and standing, but now, I found myself having to grip the counter behind me for support. I caught a blush on Rachel's cheek. Clearly something had passed between us that was beyond my comprehension.

It was probably for the best.

"Go study," I said. She had to, or else I'd be a detriment to her education.

"I'm going," Rachel said, even though she was moving closer to me. Her feet continued forward, a definite path for collision, and I was rooted to my spot. Her eyes caught mine first, and I tried to speak, but no sound came out. Rachel slipped her hands and arms between the spaces of my own, bracing her hands against the counter on either side of me, and tilted her head up toward me. I saw the cheeky smile plastered on her face as she looked at me with so many questions. So many questions that I knew I could answer, if I only had the words.

"You don't look like you're going," I pointed out. She laughed.

"There's something I needed to do first," Rachel said softly. "It's very, very important."

I felt her leaning in, and felt my nerves kick in.

"If you're going to attempt a kiss, I might have halitosis," I squeaked out, not quite recognizing the sound of my own voice. It was so constricted, so needy and smothered with conflicting feeling. Feeling that I knew was like wildfire, so mutable, no solid fixture, and I couldn't control it. I was starting to think I wasn't meant to, that it didn't wish to be controlled. That it was best to just let things happen, the chips would fall at will, and I would go along for the ride.

"Do I look worried?"

"No."

"Then stop trying to ward me off," Rachel replied, eyebrow high and defiant.

"I like when you kiss me," I confessed.

"Good," Rachel breathed, against my lips this time before she touched ours together. My knees weakened again, and I slumped forward, caught between the counter and her body. She pressed her hips into mine, and it felt like a fatal wound, spreading within my abdomen. It was a good kind of painful, not what one would expect from a mortal wound, but something in me said that with every kiss, Rachel Berry was getting deeper into me, and soon, there would be nothing of me left that existed without her.

Her lips traced patterns against my own as she drove us higher, deeper, and kept me anchored. Her fingertips traced gentle circles along my lower back, and fingernails dug in every so slightly when I surged forward and increased our shared contact, removing the last of the existing space between us, crushing it with our passion. Smothering it with heat.

I grew confident. There wasn't much to kissing, I realized. It was a dance, but it was all based on feeling. My mind started giving me ideas, pictures, and even though my eyes were closed, I could still see Rachel perfectly, and the mental images of her body, her form, made my hands want to touch. They found her lower back, mirroring what she was doing to me, then sliding lower. I cupped her rear, tempting fate by flexing my fingers against the pliant, toned muscles, and a loud sound ripped from the back of her throat.

I wasn't sure what to think of the noise, I thought perhaps it was a warning, a pain, that maybe I was causing a burning in her now, and I didn't know much else other than I had to stop it. I jumped back, nearly launching myself onto the counter and moved my hands away from her, separating our lips abruptly in the process. Rachel giggled softly and ran a finger over my collarbone, tracing the skin that wasn't covered by my t-shirt.

"You're something else," Rachel stated.

"I am," I said, unsure of what her point was.

Rachel shook her head, laughing again.

"No, you're just... so sweet, and shy, and _considerate_," Rachel replied. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're a perfect gentleman."

I beamed.

"Well, I wouldn't want to ever hurt you," I stated.

"I know you won't," Rachel said confidently. "But, Quinn... please know that what you were doing, it wasn't unpleasant. I wanted it. It's a little too soon for... more, but some things, some touching... it's completely okay."

"That's a private area," I replied. "I shouldn't have..."

She cut me off with a kiss. It was quick and short-lived, but it spoke volumes. My heart fluttered and grew wings, and I knew that the smile on my face was likely dazed and hazy when she pulled away.

"You're new to this," Rachel said simply. "So am I. We'll learn together. I trust you to respect my boundaries, because I know you will. However, if I give you permission to... touch me, that means you can. Okay?"

"Green means go?" I asked, suddenly thinking of a stop light. A common saying. To give someone the green light, that meant they had permission. Rachel smiled, then nodded. She took my hands gently in her own, and I allowed her to guide them. I felt my palms heat up, but not in a way that was dangerous. This was a transmission from her body heat to my own; I noticed that her body heat had grown significantly, but since she didn't have any abilities that I knew of, I wasn't afraid. There had to be a logical reason for that, I just wasn't currently aware of the possibility, nor did I want to dwell on it.

I was thinking of my hands, Rachel's hands, and where those four hands were traveling together. I was thinking of their potential destination. She guided my hands, still using hers as a catalyst on top, down her curves. I felt the gentle slope of her ribcage moving into her waist, felt the bone of jutting hips, and then took a shallow, staggered breath as she moved my hands around to where they had been when I pulled away. She kept them there, and released a breath of her own, then found my eyes, letting me know that she was fully aware of what was transpiring between us.

"Green light," Rachel whispered. "Sometimes. You'll learn when."

She winked again, and my hands flexed of their own accord. She moaned softly, and wrapped her arms around me. Her head fell in the crook of my neck, and she groaned and breathed me in.

"Rachel?"

"Two more minutes, and then I really need to study."

I nodded, and allowed Rachel to move her body completely against mine. Our breathing synchronized, and I could hear and feel her heartbeat as if it were resting directly above my own.

Two minutes passed, perhaps longer, and then Rachel reluctantly began the process of untangling our bodies.

"Studying," Rachel said. "That's what I came here to do."

I nodded.

"But we do have matters to discuss," she continued.

"We do," I said. I wasn't sure what exactly I was going to tell her, or what I could tell her. Everything seemed kind of unbelievable. If I hadn't lived it, if it wasn't a daily part of my own existence, I certainly wouldn't believe in things like Supersoldiers or find a plausible reason why people could be walking around with abilities like I had. However, Rachel deserved something. She deserved some sort of explanation for why I was away.

I couldn't lie.

My heart sank.

I knew what I had to do.

_Quinn, you have to help._

I hated myself for relying on this form of myself, knowing that it would only lead to trouble down the road. However, I couldn't justify telling Rachel the truth. What if she didn't believe me? What if she thought I was a freak and wanted nothing to do with me? What if her knowing put her in some sort of unspeakable danger? My fists clenched at that last thought, acting on their own.

I certainly couldn't have that.

I could feel Quinn nod, stirring and preparing to play her part.

She was always ready, even when I wasn't. Especially when I wasn't.

However, I found that some part of me, perhaps a small part, was comforted by the fact that she was there, and that she would _always _be there. My security blanket. My protector. My friend.

"My fathers gave me a 10 o' clock curfew, since it's a school night. Give me an hour to study, and then we'll talk," Rachel said.

I looked at the clock.

It was only 6:00.

Surely she didn't plan to talk for three hours?

We parted ways when we reached my living room, and I watched her walk down the short hallway to my bedroom, disappearing out of my sight after a few seconds that went by way too quickly. I found the television remote, and turned on the TV. I flipped through channels, finding that immersion in pop culture wasn't doing anything for me tonight.

Reality television was annoying.

The Discovery Channel didn't have anything new for me to learn.

Sitcoms seemed cliché, somehow.

Game shows made me disappointed in the human race, which was something I absolutely did _not _want to feel.

I found myself watching sports, hoping that a rousing game of football would be enough to dull my mind, if nothing else. However, I found that the constant advertisements for beer and other sports paraphernalia along with multiple terms that I had no basis for, and no desire to understand and define, made it completely unwatchable about after fifteen minutes.

I looked at the clock, and drummed my fingertips on the end of the sofa.

I changed the channel to Animal Planet, and when my first image was that of a cheetah chasing down a gazelle, then demolishing the prancing creature, I turned my television off entirely. I tossed the remote control next to my on the coach and sat, soaking up the silence.

I glanced down the hallway, which seemed to stretch and lengthen before my very eyes.

I knew this was an optical illusion, that it was my mind playing tricks, but deep down, I knew what it meant.

I didn't want to admit it, but I was too weak to ignore blatant fact.

I could feel Quinn flickering, bursting to life, demanding my attention. I furrowed my brow.

_Please, just a little longer, and then you can have your turn._

When the silence became too much, I stood up from the couch, and found myself heading down the hallway. I opened my bedroom door, which was only left cracked, and stood in the doorway. Rachel was laying on her stomach, in the middle of my bed, textbook in front of her and a highlighter in hand. I leaned against the door frame and couldn't stop myself from smiling.

After a moment passed, she looked up and over her shoulder, meeting my eyes.

Then, she glanced at the clock, and a smile covered her face.

"I was wondering how long it would take you," she said smugly. "Twenty-seven minutes. Not bad."

"I can go," I replied.

She sat up, marked her page, then closed her book. She put the cap back on the highlighter and put her things aside, then made room for me on the bed and shook her head vehemently.

"Stay."

"But studying," I insisted. "Your education is important, and I don't want you to think for a moment that it isn't important to me, Rachel. I want the best for you."

She grinned.

"I know what's best for me, Quinn, but you're sweet and I can study later," Rachel said, easing my concerns a little. She patted the bed beside her. "I'd much rather talk to you."

I nodded, then joined her on the bed. My feet felt like they were gliding against the floor, carrying me to her on wings. Maybe they were.

I sat down beside her, and she moved so we were laying against the headboard. I laid completely against it, propped up in a lounging position, and she draped herself over me, manipulating my arms so they could wrap around her perfectly. It was like she sensed that I didn't know how to proceed, or what to do.

Which was nice, since I didn't. It was a completely accurate assessment on her part. And still, every time she pulled one of those moves, I was floored at just how well she knew me.

"I don't know how to break the ice here," Rachel replied. "You're going to have to help."

I felt my heart sink.

_Help?_

What if I wasn't ready to help?

What if I wasn't ready to tell her _those _kinds of things in any great detail? What if she wasn't ready to hear them?

The panic flourished, then ceased when Quinn skipped ahead of the line. She smiled, and Rachel must have liked the smile, because I caught the same blush on her cheeks as before, and her hand, which was previously still at her side, moved up to rest on the center of my abdomen.

"You really want to talk when we're alone like this?" Quinn said in a husky, sultry voice that made me painfully aware of how I had lost control.

"There are questions in my mind," Rachel confessed, but her voice was also changed. It was breathless, like she had been exerting herself to a great degree, and her smile dropped slightly. Her eyes were hazy, glazed over, and her fingertips began stroking my stomach.

"I promise you, I will answer those later," Quinn said, but I felt a pang of guilt. She couldn't promise. She didn't ever have to. There were two of us here, and she was the liar. "But first-"

Quinn lowered her lips to Rachel's, leading the kiss in ways I could not, and Rachel moaned. Quinn's hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, and then, their tongues met, and Quinn's body... _our _body, began moving in motions against Rachel that I had never experienced. That I wasn't sure how to do.

"Quinn..." Rachel moaned, shifting her body in the same back-and-forth motion against us. Quinn's hands moved down to Rachel's butt, then squeezed hard enough to cause her to whimper, and I prayed that she wasn't hurting this amazing girl, but the sounds Rachel was making, the noises that replied to the movement, made me think that somehow, everything would turn out all right.

"Green light," Quinn purred, and Rachel nodded happily. They kept kissing, and Quinn's teeth snagged Rachel's bottom lip, pulling gently. Her hands moved up, underneath Rachel's shirt, touching skin, and Rachel hissed. Quinn's hands traveled up, up all the way up her back, to the clasp of her bra.

_Wait. Wait. Quinn, stop! Stop!_

Rachel looked at Quinn with nervous eyes. I could see her insecurity. I could sense that she was unsure, but I could not keep Quinn from moving forward.

_Rachel, red light! Red light!_

As if she could hear me.

Rachel smiled kindly, then moved Quinn's hands back to her butt.

"Slow," she requested, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "There will be time for more exploration in our future, I promise, but for now..."

Rachel captured Quinn's lips again, and they kissed gently. Quinn was holding herself back, for some reason. I could sense it. Rachel's hips rocked forward, against us, and Quinn rolled them so she was on top.

I was thankful that I was not the one in control. Rachel's hair fanned behind her so perfectly, and her bottom lip was swollen, from what we had been doing, from what Quinn had been doing to her. From this closeness, and she was just too beautiful, and it was all too much.

Rachel's hands moved up my shirt, caressing Quinn's back, teasing and stroking and loving the muscles that moved as Quinn moved on top of her, grinding their bodies together. Quinn's lips found Rachel's neck, and I decided that worrying was the wrong thing to do at a time like this. Because eventually, I would get the reins back, and I'd need to know how to behave, what to do, what she liked.

I wanted to know what she liked so badly. I wanted to be able to make Rachel Berry emit sounds like _that. _

Quinn must have found a good spot, because Rachel moaned and keened, whimpering slightly and bucking hard against our body. Quinn's hands moved quickly, caressing down her curves, enjoying their closeness, and I felt a stir of jealousy, but pushed it down quickly, understanding that it was for the best.

"Quinn, I missed you."

_I missed you, too..._

"I missed you every second I was away," Quinn breathed, and I knew that this statement wasn't a lie. It wasn't a line. It wasn't pretty words that would make Rachel weak in the knees. It was truth.

It was beautiful, untarnished truth, and I felt proud of my other half for being able to give Rachel such a gift.

She deserved that, and so much more.

"You proved my theory right, so you know," Rachel breathed against Quinn's lips. Quinn smiled, then raised her eyebrow.

"Oh yeah, and what was that?"

Rachel grinned, and continued gently moving her body up and down, back and forth against Quinn.

"That you're the one. That you're the one I'm meant to be with," Rachel said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it was.

Regardless, I suddenly found myself back in control so quickly that I barely had time to adjust to the switch, to the burning pain that seemed to encompass the entire lower half of my body.

Quinn had abandoned me, just like that.

"The one?" I squeaked, trying to ignore the searing pain.

"Yes," Rachel reiterated. "I thought so before, but I told myself that if you were going to disappear without a trace, that it wasn't possible. But despite the odds, you came back. You came back to me."

Her body slowed, the tears made another appearance, and I wiped each one away with devotion and tenderness.

Somehow, her statement made sense.

It didn't scare me.

If she wasn't going to run from the things that scared me most, why should I run from something as pure as human emotion? From love?

I closed my eyes, trying to focus, and found that I couldn't in my current position. I leaned down and touched our lips once more, then rolled us back to where we had started. Rachel burrowed her head into my neck and breathed normally, and I stroked her back soothingly.

"I don't want to ever leave your side," I confessed.

"That scares me," Rachel admitted. "Because I think that if I let you too close, if I let you in closer than you already are, then when you leave, if you have to leave again, that you'll take everything I have left."

I nodded.

That, I completely understood.

I felt the same way.

"You don't have to worry," I replied. "Because I've been building a theory of my own."

"Oh really?" Rachel asked playfully. "And what's that?"

I kissed her forehead.

"I think I was made for you."

To most humans, this would be a cliché.

To the human world, this was a figure of speech.

But as the pieces of the puzzle continued sliding together, I started to get a taste of the larger whole.

I started to see the bigger picture.

Rachel grinned, then moved even closer to me, allowing me to wrap my arms more securely around her.

"We can talk later," she affirmed. "Will you just hold me for now?"

I nodded.

I listened to her breathing.

I lost myself in every sound of every heartbeat, and another piece of my puzzle fell into place.

The voice sounded in my head, breaking me from our shared silence for a moment.

But only for a moment.

_You see, it never mattered about the journey. The steps were irrelevant. I told you, when you found where you belonged, where you truly belonged, you'd know. _

I smiled, then closed my eyes.

I was finally home.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hey, everyone. I'm sorry this came a little later than expected. I'm trying my best to get a lot of writing done, but I got an opportunity for a little bit of an impromptu vacation, and where I'm staying has very, very limited internet access. Actually, I'm pretty much using my phone as a wireless hotspot, and that's not always ironclad. However, I am trying to get a lot of writing done, so even if I can't post everything rapidly, when I get back to the real world, there should be quite a bit of rapid updating on _both _of my stories. Until then, I hope this tides you over and is an enjoyable read. Thank you SO, SO much for all your support, reviews, and comments. I always love reading what you think. So, please - let me know. **

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><p>I was starting to realize that one of the hardest things about being human was saying goodbye. Even though I was not a human, at least not technically, I was still expected to abide by the rules and laws that made their society work. I wanted to fit in; I craved normalcy, deep down, even though I knew finding it and making it a possibility would be a constant struggle.<p>

Struggle. This was something I was becoming very, _very _familiar with. I struggled with the truths as I had been given them. I struggled holding onto the knowledge of who and what I was, since I had been given some answers by Marcus, who was still very much a mystery to me. I struggled with keeping these truths from Rachel, who was becoming a permanent, necessary fixture in my life. I felt bad keeping secrets from her, but I rationalized this by telling myself, by understanding that the secrets I kept were for good reason, and perhaps in keeping them, I would keep her around longer.

I still didn't know how she'd react if she found out what I was. She had emphasized in the past that she didn't care if I was a monster, that she believed that I was still something good, deep down. I didn't want to give her any reasons to doubt; I didn't want to etch insecurities in her brain. I would rather keep those secrets and those insecurities in my own mind, along with my wavering self-control. She brought that out in me, the need to constantly do better and be better.

Which led to another struggle.

Then another.

We stood outside her car, which was still left parked at the high school at precisely 9:40, twenty minutes before she was due home. I would not disobey her fathers' commands. I would not give them any reason to dislike me. I would not even help her disobey them, even though I was beginning to understand that even the shortest time away from this girl was wreaking some sort of blissful havoc on my systems, installing a virus deep within me that continued to grow and develop on its own. It held both positive and negative effects, I decided: it was helping me become a different person, helping me develop into a better human, and teaching me not only about the world, but about myself. However, it was this same virus that lead to what was, quite possibly, an unhealthy level of attachment.

Rachel leaned back against her car, back pressed against the driver's side door, and looked at me with full, round, dark eyes.

"I don't want to say goodnight to you," Rachel said quietly. Sometimes, I wondered if she had access to my most private thoughts. However, the difference was that she had the abilities and tools to voice them aloud in ways I could not. She would open the doors, and blindly, I would follow. I learned this about myself also – I would follow every time, anywhere she asked.

"Your fathers set a ten o'clock curfew," I stated.

Rachel pouted, and I watched her bottom lip jut out, asking me to do horrible, irresponsible things. I shook my head and stood my ground.

"They're just overprotective. When I explain the situation, they'll find it to be charming and will likely-"

I cleared my throat, then looked pointedly at Rachel. I watched her stance crumble slightly, and she sank back a little, offering me a half smile as a consolation. She knew that I wouldn't bend on this issue.

"Ten o'clock, Rachel," I insisted.

Rachel's pout resurfaced, and I took a step closer, wanting to soothe the tenacious girl before me. I could sense her struggles along with my own, and felt a surge of what seemed to be compassion. It couldn't have been easy for her, either.

We had ended up spending a good amount of time in my bed, just content to hold one another, and I found that Rachel fit perfectly in my arms. We talked quietly after a good bout of silence, playing the question game that we had taken to at lunch, when we first met one another. Rachel was determined to find out every little factoid about me, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant I found it to be. She was determined, which was a positive characteristic I was growing quite fond of. Her tenacity, however, was unshakable, even now, when we were faced with stark reality.

Everything, everyone had to say goodbye.

I could sense her reasoning behind not wanting to. After all, the last time, it had been a more permanent sort of goodbye, which ended up taking me a year to return and surface in her world once more.

I had to make her realize that this wasn't the case. It would never happen a second time. This time, I was playing for keeps.

"It doesn't even take five minutes for me to drive home," Rachel said, glancing up, down, and all over me. I followed her gaze, not certain where she was trying to go, but when I felt Quinn stir, I got the hint loud and clear.

"And?"

"And we should be utilizing this time in a proper, useful way, don't you think?" Rachel asked seductively, licking her lips and reaching out to me. I found myself clutched between her small hands, each taking purchase on my hips and pulling me forward so I was situated against her body, effectively pinning her between me and her car.

"Oh," I breathed out, noticing that my exhale landed on her lips, which were now very, very close to mine. "Right. Absolutely."

"No more talking, Quinn," Rachel purred.

I nodded, and she closed the distance.

Every time I kissed Rachel Berry, it was something akin to being struck by lightning. Every time, no matter how many times it had happened, it always felt brand new. It felt like my body was wafting, untethered in the breeze, just waiting for a connection, and then when I found myself in Rachel, I was held fast to something bigger, something that gave me the strength to find exactly what I needed. It was an interesting thought that floated through my head, but was quickly pushed aside when Rachel became more insistent. She gripped my hips with her hands, flexing her fingers against my skin, and moved her hips forward, seeking more heat, more contact, more of everything I had to offer. I pulled back, panting slightly, and took in her wanton appearance.

She was miraculous. She was perfection.

She was everything.

"What happened to slow?" I asked quietly.

Rachel nodded, and I felt her thumbs stroke the skin just off to the side of my hipbones, caressing gently where my shirt had risen up.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I just... it's all so new, and I can't get enough."

I swallowed hard when a question surfaced in my mind. I knew it was linked to jealousy, but I didn't push it away. Humans had to feel emotions, right? The good could not exist without the bad. For every action, there was an equal and opposite... I knew what the basics meant. I knew logic and reason. It was my purpose, I understood it. My mind functioned in a way not unlike a computer, an operating system that picked up base cues from everything around me. Jealousy. I had learned that, so I could embrace it when it surfaced and I felt it.

I looked into Rachel's eyes, hoping to find truth there.

"Have you never... you've never been like this with others?"

Rachel looked down, then found me again. I sensed that mentally, she was far away, so I attempted to bridge the gap by pulling her closer, wrapping her up in me. She smiled, then placed a delicate kiss to the top of my shoulder before her eyes rose up again.

"There was... once. During the period of time where I was romantically attached to Finn," Rachel said, pausing when she heard my audible hiss of disapproval. She kissed my shoulder again, then held both of my hands in hers. "It was nothing. I mean, nothing big. We didn't take things any further than you and I have."

"It was nothing?"

She nodded.

"I don't want to hurt you by telling you the details, but if it will give you some sort of peace of mind. I know you're not his biggest fan..."

"It will."

Rachel steeled herself, bit down on her bottom lip, and inhaled deeply.

"All right," Rachel said. "He came over to my house one night, when my fathers were away. I felt horrible for sneaking him in, but they would have never approved, you see, and he was just so... convincing. I should have known better, but teenage hormones and the need to feel like I _belonged _somewhere got the best of me."

She paused again, and I prompted her.

"Go on. I'll be all right."

"We went up to my bedroom, and there was kissing. Like what we've done. A little touching, but no removal of clothing. I told him my stance on wanting to wait until I'm firmly set in my career, accomplished. Possibly by age 25. However, he was persistent, and I found his passion to be endearing, somehow, so we went to take things just a little further, but I had to stop."

"He listened?"

"Yes, Quinn," Rachel said. "Despite your opinions of him, he's not terrible. He's... a little difficult to communicate with at times, and has that strange male aggression and need to be overtly dominant, but he was a gentleman with me. He really liked me. He was the first person who ever really showed an interest in me, and he's one of the most attractive boys in school."

"Why did you stop?" I asked.

Rachel looked at me, then smiled.

"People always say that 'when it's right, you'll know,' and with Finn, it never felt right. It felt _good_, in a way, but never right. I don't know, it always just felt like I was waiting for something more than my inevitable Broadway career and multiple awards. Like I was supposed to be with someone else."

"Someone like... like me?" I asked, unable to stop the sounds of insecurity from creeping into my voice. Rachel placed her hand on my cheek, stroking my skin with her thumb.

"Exactly like you," Rachel whispered, then pulled me in for another slow, gentle kiss.

I held onto Rachel like it would be the last time and summoned her breath into my lungs. When she moaned, I pressed harder, and felt what it was meant to be alive. To be free. Finally, I felt the satisfaction of being human, of belonging and having a place, and being able to call something my own.

I pulled back and looked into those endless brown eyes.

"Rachel?"

"Don't tell me that I have to go home right now," Rachel breathed out.

"I wasn't going to say that, but soon you'll have to," I replied.

"Just don't say it right now."

"Okay."

Rachel grabbed my hand, and led me to the hood of her car, and she positioned us so I was leaning against the hood, and she was pressed flush against me, her back to my front. My arms slipped around her small waist, and I laid a gentle kiss to her shoulder blade. Rachel looked up, her eyes focused on the pinpricks of light, stars forming in the sky.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it, Quinn?"

"I can barely look away from you enough to appreciate it," I commented honestly. She swatted my arm and giggled.

"You and those words!" Rachel exclaimed. "What am I going to do with you?"

In an instant, I knew the answer.

Perhaps it wasn't the answer she was looking for. Her tone suggested that she was being playful, not overly serious. However, my response was warranted, provoked, and absolutely necessary.

"Be mine."

Rachel's eyes widened, and I felt her inhale sharply, a result of surprise.

"Quinn..."

I turned her in my arms, gazed deeply into her eyes, and kept her close. Too close.

"Be mine," I said again. "You asked what you were going to do with me. I don't care what you do. Just be mine. That's all I want."

"It was a rhetorical question, Quinn," Rachel said, and I silenced her with a simple, pleading look.

"Is that a no, then?"

Rachel exhaled again, a sigh, and looked at me via another one of her infamous head tilts. She was contemplating, I thought, looking at me like she had never really seen me, but wanted not only to see the outside, what I showed the entire world, but all the inside layers. I wanted so badly for her to know those parts of me. I felt that in time, in the right time, I would. She would be the only person to crack the code.

Nobody else was worthy.

"I've always been yours," Rachel said simply. Her words fell directly on my heart, striking a balanced chord of enlightenment that came with the feeling of being absolutely fulfilled in every way.

I wondered for a brief moment just how much truth was behind those words. She hadn't been able to allow herself the proper realm of intimacy with Finn. She had waited for me for an entire year, not knowing if I would ever return. She felt perfect, like my perfect match. Like a part of me that was detached from my body, acting on its own somehow, yet still belonged at my side.

Maybe she truly had always been mine.

I just hadn't laid claim on her yet.

I glanced at the watch on my arm. 9:50.

I sighed, then lowered my eyes.

"Quinn, what is it? What's wrong?" Rachel asked gently.

"You have to go," I said quietly.

Rachel's brow furrowed as she played an idea in her head. Then, a smirk rose on her features, and she leaned forward to place a quick, chaste kiss on my lips.

"This doesn't have to be a bad thing!" Rachel said animatedly, waving her hands around and indulging in our close proximity for a few moments longer.

"Explain."

"Tomorrow, both my fathers will be home. Dad's back from his latest business trip, and even though he tends to favor family time when he gets back from those things, I'm sure he wouldn't mind you coming over for dinner."

"Come over for dinner tomorrow night?" I reiterated.

Rachel grinned.

"Yes, tomorrow night," Rachel said. "My fathers have always been incredibly open-minded in the prospects of my dating life, although it has been nearly non-existent. They didn't like Finn, either, so you'll have that in common, and my Daddy already loves you."

"He does?"

That was a surprise. I never thought I had the proper tools to enchant a parental figure, but then I remembered: it wasn't me.

_Thank you, Quinn. _

"Yes, of _course _he does. Who wouldn't?" Rachel said. "And since you've got he and I both firmly in your corner, my dad should be easy enough to charm. He's the more difficult parent, definitely, but I have faith that he'll approve of you."

"I really do hope so."

Rachel kissed me again, letting it linger. The air around us had turned cold, and when we parted and breathed, I could see our breath float together as steam, which brought a smile to my face. Rachel's bottom lip was swollen and dewy, likely from our continuous bouts of passion. I wondered if her fathers would notice. Would they inspect her, interrogate her? Would I be in trouble when I did walk in their home tomorrow evening?

"Just be yourself," Rachel instructed. "You're kind of remarkable."

Remarkable.

I'd been called that a time or two, though not for the reasons Rachel meant.

Rachel leaned in, but before her lips could touch mine, I pulled back, giving her a gentle smile to know that it wasn't anything against her. This was my practicality kicking in along with a new desire to get on her fathers' good sides, respectively.

"Go, or I won't be able to let you leave."

My arms lost their grip on her body, and we both hopped off the hood of her car. I watched her get in, and didn't stop watching until she had left the parking lot.

The rest of my night was on autopilot: home, nightly routines, then straight to bed. I tossed and turned that night, over and over again, my mind was on constant rotation: Rachel, Marcus, 22-B, the lab, feelings, emotions...

It was more than I could handle.

_How do you shut it off?_

I didn't remember anything after that.

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><p>The next morning, I woke up feeling completely refreshed. Actually, it was the best sleep I could ever remember having.<p>

I found my phone on the nightstand, and turned it on to check the time. I had woken up ten minutes before my 7:00 AM alarm was due to sound. I checked my status bar, and saw a text message icon, signaling that I had an unread message.

Sure enough, it was from Rachel.

I opened it, and read: **I can't wait to see you at school today. I hope you slept well. All my dreams were of you. Xoxo, Your Rachel.**

My Rachel.

_My _Rachel.

I grinned, stretching my muscles that were tense from staying in the same position for a good number of hours.

Nothing could deflate my mood.

I walked into the halls of McKinley, head held high, feet careening across the floor in a manner that suggested I might actually be walking on water. Everybody I passed in the crowd got a head nod, a smile, or both, even though my eyes were scanning for familiarity.

I was looking for dark eyes, brown hair, short, petite frame. I was looking, naturally, for Rachel.

Then, a glimpse of brown caught my eye. I felt a drop in my stomach, and felt my palms start to sweat a little. I smiled, and made my way toward the girl, trying to make a solid plan of how I would act upon greeting Rachel. Even though I had been brave enough, or possibly careless enough, to kiss her in front of the entire student body less than 24 hours prior, we hadn't discussed boundaries in a school setting. I knew that it was difficult being a member of a same-sex relationship in modern society, although my mind could not wrap around the reasoning behind this.

I cared for Rachel, deeply, and she cared for me in the same regard. It had been a long time coming, possibly longer than either of us could really comprehend, so I wasn't about to tread upon it lightly, or let anyone else with their small minds lessen it or dirty it.

I kept walking closer, realizing that my timing was horrible.

The girl turned around, and instead of the happy, excited smile I was hoping for, I was met with something very different.

"Hey, Rainbow Brite! Nice show after school the other day," Santana remarked, fully equipped with venom in every syllable of her words.

"It's lovely to see you again, too, Santana," I remarked dryly. Santana took a few steps closer, edging me all the way to the lockers. She slammed her hand hard by the side of my head and glared at me. I jolted, surprised mostly by the loud noise, since I knew she couldn't hurt me. She had the capacity to make my day unpleasant, at best, but couldn't really cause me any physical harm. At least, not without consequences. I could feel my other half stirring already, preparing to unleash herself upon the other brunette that she wasn't fond of at all.

"Listen up, freak show," Santana snarled. "I don't know where you went off to for so long. Wonderland, maybe, but since you've come back, I thought I'd give you a friendly replay of the rules around here. Your little Pride parade? Not welcome."

"Why not?" I asked defiantly. "I don't see why it's such an issue. Unless you're also interested in courting Rachel."

Santana practically hissed at me for that remark.

"Bitch, please. I've got a type, and I prefer my significant others to be taller and less hairy," Santana retorted sharply.

"Rachel is not hairy," I defended.

"She's a hobbit. Personally, I don't see the attraction, because if you weren't such a freak of nature, I'd say you could hang with the higher-ups. You know, the pretty and popular types, like me. Because you've got some game going on under those shapeless polo shirts and discount jeans."

"I don't want to be your friend."

"Please," Santana said, raising a hand. "Everyone wants some of this in one way or another. You should feel lucky I give you enough of my time to torment you."

"I feel so blessed," I drawled. "Can you move, please? I have a class to attend."

Santana whistled, then moved in again, like a hungry lioness stalking her prey. Except, I didn't feel like prey. I didn't feel intimidated. I mostly felt bored. And Quinn mostly felt a strange, overwhelming need to rip every strand of Santana's hair out at the root.

"You think you're hot shit, but you're not. You think you're something, I don't know what, but truth is, sweetie, you're nothing. Not anything. So, stay out of my way, or I'll find better places to toss your ass than the dumpster," Santana threatened.

I felt a fire surge in my belly, and bit my tongue from releasing a strand of horrible things that would mostly send the already tilting girl completely off her axis.

Just then, Brittany came up, separating us in the nick of time by placing a hand gently on Santana's shoulder.

"What?" Santana reeled, turning around with cold eyes that immediately softened when she saw who the hand belonged to. "Sorry, B."

"It's okay," Brittany said gently. "Walk me to class?"

Santana looked between me and Brittany, shifting her gaze back and forth a few times before pursing her lips and nodding abruptly.

Brittany extended her hand when Santana took a step back, and their pinkies linked, as if they were gravitated toward each other. Opposites, in nearly every way, finding their mate in one another. I could see the beauty in it, in the way that Brittany, who truly seemed to be a gentle soul, calmed the headstrong, obviously tormented girl and made her someone that was possibly likeable.

Part of me wished that I could see that side of Santana, or find a way to get close enough to Brittany to befriend her. However, I feared that both of these things were close to, if not already impossible.

Brittany turned to look at me as they were walking away, and I glanced into her cerulean eyes, deep as oceans, vast and filled to the brim with gentle emotion. She smiled at me, and mouthed a quick apology. I nodded, accepting, and they walked out of sight. I slumped back against the lockers, breathing heavily, and felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw another text from Rachel waiting for me.

**Can you come to class early? I wanted to discuss the dinner menu for tonight and I saved you a seat. Xoxo, Your Rachel**

I tapped out a quick reply, and felt my feet pick up speed, traveling on air, perhaps as they lifted me all the way down the hallway into the classroom.

I sank into the seat next to Rachel, who practically started bouncing in her seat, unable to contain her joy when she saw me.

I quietly organized my books, my thoughts, and cleared my mind so I would be able to give her the proper amount of attention and focus.

However, she instantly sensed something was amiss.

Busted.

"Are you all right?" Rachel asked, her brow furrowing with concern. "You're not still worried about impressing my fathers, are you? Because they were already quite pleased that you insisted on the punctuality of my curfew and obeyed their wishes. So that's a check to the positive."

I shook my head and pursed my lips.

"No, I'm not as concerned about that. I'm still a little nervous, but the fact that you like me so much has given me hope."

Rachel smiled, then went right back to focusing on the cause behind my apparent difference in personality.

"So, if not dinner, what's got you troubled?" Rachel asked. She placed her hand over mine. "Because, as much as brooding suits you, I prefer when you smile."

"I had another encounter with Santana Lopez," I said. "I don't know why she hates me so much, and then she started attacking you verbally, and her words are just cruel, Rachel. I don't know why she says those sorts of things. I'd prefer she just stuck with insulting me, but you? I can't stand it."

"I'm used to it," Rachel said sadly. "That's just how she is. You know, sometimes people don't take very well to being... different."

Different? How was she any different than the other bullies and humans who sought out others just to crush them under their shoes?

"Really? Different? How?"

"She's..." Rachel said, then leaned in conspiratorially, and lowered her voice to an near inaudible pitch. Which was quite difficult for her, I assumed. "She's like us, Quinn."

"I know she's female, Rachel."

"No! She's..." Rachel raised her voice, then lowered it to a whisper again. But first, she looked around, just to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. "She likes girls. Perhaps not exclusively, but at least to some degree. So, she's probably targeting you because it makes it easier to hide things about herself. I've read a lot of books on adolescent psychology."

"Oh," I said. "Well, why doesn't somebody help her?"

Rachel's eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

"Quinn, nobody would _dare_."

I shrugged.

"Everyone could use a good friend, Rachel," I said. "Even cruel bullies like Santana Lopez."

Suddenly, it dawned upon me.

What a perfect way to place myself in society. Santana Lopez held the keys to the kingdom. With her on my side, I could secure myself at McKinley, and keep Rachel safe from bullies.

It was quite possibly the perfect representation of a "win-win" situation.

I smiled, but hid most of the joy, not wanting Rachel to know what I was plotting. I reached across the aisle and grabbed her hand, not caring what anyone would say or if anyone even saw the gesture.

I finally had a plan.

First, I had to convince Rachel's fathers that I was worthy of their daughter's affections.

Then I was going to befriend Santana Lopez.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I can't apologize enough for the wait on this. I was surprised with a getaway, and where we ended up going had TERRIBLE internet service AND cell reception. I got a little bit of writing done, but due to the nature of said getaway, I was a bit, well... distracted. So, my sincerest apologies, but I do hope this chapter will make up for it. Some of you will seriously be patting yourselves on the back after this. I'm quite proud of you all for figuring out a few... slight details. Very smart of you. Anyway, your reviews are incredible, and as a writer, I couldn't be luckier to have readers like you. Please, continue to share your thoughts. They help so much. Enjoy, and I will (patiently, I think) await your reviews.**

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><p>While I was away, Rachel had taken to eating lunch in the courtyard instead of in the cafeteria like everyone else. She said that it helped her feel less alone and like less of a target, because there weren't as many people around to watch her or throw barbed comments over their shoulders. The way she explained it didn't demand pity or compassion; it was simply fact, and I admired her for being so strong through everything she had gone through. I had researched bullying, especially as it was so prevalent in high schools, and seemed to be a more popular past time at McKinley. I understood that it could break someone's spirit, and was meant to, especially when someone was different or an outcast. Rachel was both of these things, but she never let it make her feel like less of a person, no matter how hard her tormentors tried to accomplish the creation of those feelings within her.<p>

Even though the courtyard had become a haven to Rachel and I disliked that she had to run so far away from everyone else just to feel safe, I grew to appreciate that she had taken up residence in a far corner of the school. It was peaceful out here, outside in the fresh air, with little noise, sound, or interruptions. We sat out there together, just the two of us enjoying the sunshine and the pristine feel of daytime. I watched the sunshine light up Rachel's skin, highlighting the brief kiss of freckles along her forearm and tracing them with my eyes. I wanted to touch, but could not bring myself to make a move so bold.

I was content to watch her, to admire her beauty like one would watch a swan gliding seamlessly across a lake. When you look at nature, you are content to glance upon its beauty from a distance, and I had brought myself to that place, even though I knew I had more privileges with Rachel than any other common observer. I felt special. I felt like I had been given the keys to something entirely precious, perhaps too precious to be held by human hands.

Which could be why she was meant for mine.

At least, I felt she was meant for mine.

I hoped she was.

"Quinn?" Rachel asked. I looked up, suddenly realizing that I had been holding my sandwich for a good ten minutes without even taking a bite. I realized that to her, it probably seemed odd to watch me so lost in my thoughts, frozen like a statue.

"Sorry," I apologized instantly, taking a bite of my sandwich and feeling a slight ache in my arm from being locked in a bent position for a decent interval of time.

"Don't apologize," Rachel cooed gently. "It's all right. I'm just kind of curious to know what you're thinking about."

"You always want to know those things," I stated. It wasn't negative. To some, her tenacity and need to always be in the know might be annoying or be seen as intrusive, but I found it to be endearing. I wanted her to desire the pieces of me. I wanted her to quest for knowledge and figure out the gaps in my head. I wanted her to find me interesting, as I found her.

"I'd say I could stop caring, but..." Rachel said, then grinned demurely.

"Don't change things about you when there's nothing wrong," I chided, fixing my gaze to her own. I never wanted her to change.

"Says the girl who is so sold on my being perfect," Rachel sighed. "I'm not, you know, and one day, I'm going to fall off this pedestal you have me on, and I fear you'll be horribly disappointed."

Her eyes dropped low, and I placed my sandwich on top of the zip-seal bag that I stored it in, to keep a shield between the bread and the grass. I leaned forward and touched my hands to those forearms, feeling her freckles beneath my palms, and forced her to meet my gaze by an insistent tilt of my head.

"You couldn't disappoint me," I said. "And you _are _perfect."

"Nobody else has ever seen what you see in me," Rachel said. "Not even my fathers, who love me unconditionally. They, who would be the most likely candidates to see me as perfect, don't. Nobody's really perfect, Quinn. And, flattering as it is, I don't know how you can insist on the impossible."

Her impassioned argument didn't faze me.

I held strong, and slid my thumb up and down the gently sloping muscles in her arm.

"Do you want me to stop saying such things?"

"I would like you to be more realistic," Rachel said softly. "Because although I do thrive under pressure, you're kind of the one area in my life that I feel I'm good at without even having to work for it, really."

"You're good at singing, though," I pointed out.

"I'm excellent at singing, but I've been training my whole life for it," Rachel explained. "It's a constant battle to be the best. There was no training for you, for being with you, it's like you just... see me for everything I am and want nothing more."

"That's exactly how I feel," I pressed. "Hence my knowing that you're perfect."

"I don't know how you can live in this society, understand the world, and still think that a single person can be perfect."

"I was made differently," I said, pressing close to the truth, to my real truth, and waiting for her reply. She smiled, then leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to mine. It was a reaffirmation, a praise, a seal of gratitude, and in that moment, I knew that I could tell Rachel everything. She might not understand completely at first, but she'd never turn away from me. She wouldn't hate me. She wouldn't see me as a thing. No matter what, I'd still be her Quinn.

"Well, whatever you are, I'm crazy about you," Rachel whispered against my lips as she moved to press us together once more. I was starting to get used to this, the human contact, the heat against my skin. I never thought I would crave intimacy, I never thought I'd need it. But, I had quickly learned that Rachel was the exception to all of my rules. There was a thread that I could almost see connecting us, and even though it was purely metaphorical, I knew it was there on an emotion level, linking our hearts and our spirits. Someone must have granted me a kindness, to allow me this one true joy.

I must have done something good. Somehow, somewhere.

Before I could stop it, I saw Rachel's lunch fly across the courtyard, and whipped my head around, separating myself from the safety and security of her arms. I trailed my vision up long, tan legs that were capped off by red and white sneakers, then saw Santana Lopez sneering down at me. At both of us.

I moved forward instantly, shielding Rachel's body with my own. I knew that no matter what Santana did to me, so long as she didn't lay a hand on my Rachel, everything would be all right.

I felt Quinn surge and flicker like a roaring inferno within me. Too long, I had pushed her aside to remain dormant. Too long, I had overridden her commands, her basic impulses and drives. Part of me wanted to just relax, let go, and let her loose, because I knew that the most important thing, Rachel's safety, would be upheld to the utmost degree. It would be easy enough to turn a blind eye and let Quinn have her way with Santana. I felt her like a low rumble in my chest, a complete distinction from my heartbeat, and felt the joints in my neck loosen and pop as I settled my head on my shoulders.

"Was that entirely necessary?" I asked Santana, trying to keep the razors out of my voice. I felt Rachel's hand settle in the middle of my back, perhaps for support, perhaps to instill some sort of calm within me, like she could sense the storm.

I was supposed to have bigger plans for Santana. I was supposed to find a needle in a haystack and offer it friendship. I needed to isolate the cracks in her armor. Still, I was on the other side of the door, a target to her wicked ways.

And I had just about reached my breaking point.

"I just had three sticks of celery and a diet coke, I have no interest in vomiting them up because you can't keep your faces away from each other," Santana said, her words scathing. I felt Rachel shiver behind me, and could practically feel how upset she was by these words. I looked into Santana's eyes, trying to forge deep within them, past the walls she had built strong and nearly impenetrable. I had to see what was behind them. If there was even a tiny piece of her worth holding back for, worth befriending or saving, I had to find it before she said something to me, or even worse, to Rachel, and I could no longer find it in myself to keep Quinn at bay.

I stood up, needing a closer look, and moved a hand up to keep Rachel seated on the soft grass. I rose to my full height, which stood a few inches above Santana, and tilted my head to the side.

"You don't have to be like this, you know," I started, searching through dark, endless pools of hidden emotion. It was like she categorized it, deep within herself, and I found myself looking for a box to open.

"Be like what? Normal?" Santana scoffed. "Ridiculously popular? Insanely hot? No, it's such a chore to be me. I'd much rather be a freak like you."

"I don't think you mean that," I continued. "The cruelty in those words. I think it's an act. I think there's more to you than you show people."

I found myself swimming through a darkened sea, and the seams around my reality blurred. I saw a girl, small and vulnerable, crouched underneath an oak tree, not unlike the one behind Rachel. She had her knees pulled up to her chest, and there was a scratch on her cheek. From what, I didn't know. She wiped at her tears and her blood and resigned herself to cry alone until another little girl, with bright blue eyes, and summery blonde hair crouched next to her. The blonde girl grabbed her hands and laid her head on the brunette's shoulder, and the crying stopped.

I blinked twice, finding myself looking once again at Santana.

"Because you totally know me, don't you?" Santana asked. "Do you have mind-reading powers or something? You don't know the first thing about me."

I took a step closer, probably closer than anyone, even those in her inner circle, save for one, ever dared. I smiled at her, and placed my hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but didn't remove my hand. She didn't swing a punch. She lowered her eyes, and I could sense that she could see something in my eyes that she didn't like. Compassion, perhaps. Understanding, or some very _human _emotion that she found herself running from every single day.

"I know that Brittany loves you. I think she has lots of reasons to love you, and I also know that the love of a good woman is enough to change anyone, even those of us with monsters inside," I said quietly. "Especially people like us."

"Don't talk about Brittany," Santana said, but it was weak. It lacked venom and heat and gunpowder. It was resolved, demure, and I knew I was winning.

"I don't understand why you have to be this way, but there must be some kind of reason. However, perhaps you should consider Brittany's feelings and at least find another person to show some kindness to, so you don't turn into a monster and lose her completely."

"She's not going anywhere," Santana scoffed. "She promised me. I'm never going to lose her, and you're full of shit."

"If you lose the part she loves, she might not be able to love you anymore. Have you considered that?"

"Fuck off," Santana growled.

"You know that Rachel and I see it, because we have something special like you have with Brittany, so that makes us, what... better targets? Why don't you use us as allies instead? Find something positive with other people that will understand you instead of just cower in fear."

Santana looked over her shoulder, like she was honestly terrified about someone seeing her standing so close to me without being an absolute bitch.

"Nobody's around," I stated. "Honestly, I don't know how you even knew we were out here."

"I watched you, okay?"

"Why?"

Santana sighed and crossed her arms.

"Because maybe you're right. Maybe I hate you because you two are like watching an episode of _The L Word_, and I belong on that show, too."

"So you're telling us that you're...?" Rachel piped up from behind us.

Santana flailed her arms around, then glared at Rachel.

"I'm gay, _Berry_, okay? But I can't be out with it, not while I'm still living here. One day, Britts and I will get the hell out of dodge and I'll, I don't know, open a bar or something. Isn't that what powerhouse dykes do?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak to her that way," I said clearly, my tone sharpening just enough to add an edge that almost physically knocked Santana down a peg, possibly two. I smirked inwardly.

_Thanks, Quinn_.

"We're not friends, Fabray," Santana said. "Don't get the wrong idea. Just because you know my secrets, that doesn't change anything. I call a truce, from me, but that doesn't mean the others won't come looking for you."

I frowned.

Apparently, my first effort wasn't good enough.

Santana smirked.

"And if you say a word about what I told you, I'll just deny it and find new, creative ways to make you hate yourselves," Santana said. Then, she raised her voice, completely for show. "By the way, I hear they need people with man arms on the softball team, Ellen."

Rachel and I watched her walk away, and I sat down in my spot from before. I looked into Rachel's eyes, searching only for a moment before seeing conflicting emotions.

"Are you all right?"

"She terrifies me," Rachel said. "Maybe it's an irrational fear, because after all, this is still high school, and it's not like she could kill us or anything. But still, she terrifies me."

"I won't let her do anything to you," I promised.

Rachel nodded, and leaned her head on my shoulder. It was comforting, even though it was a sign of her need and vulnerability, and I wrapped my arms around her.

"Finish your lunch?" I requested. I didn't want her to make herself sick.

"I don't have much of an appetite right now," Rachel said.

"Then what do you need?"

"Just hold me?"

I nodded, and held Rachel a little tighter.

I knew that she didn't want Santana Lopez as an enemy. Quite frankly, neither did I, even though I had even less to fear than Rachel.

But, my plans were still firmly in place.

I'd just have to try harder.

I had already planted the seed. Now I just had to watch it grow.

* * *

><p>The end of the day came by very quickly. My studies were simple, none of my classes were overly challenging, and I found myself coasting through every exam, every paper, and every lesson.<p>

I traversed the halls after the last bell, finding my locker, and then planning to meet up with Rachel so we could head back to her house. Every time I allowed my mind to dwell on dinner with her fathers, my hands started to sweat and my body got sort of achy, like I had been physically active beyond my abilities, which were quite impressive. I felt a mild headache starting in my temple, then diverted my focus just to Rachel, and found it lessened slightly.

I sighed with the relief, and grabbed the right materials I'd need for that night's homework out of my locker, transferring the books and papers to my backpack, then closed my locker.

I watched my fellow students make their way toward the doors, overly eager to head home to their video games, significant others, dinner tables, and families. I saw a group of football players heading in a mass, cups of colorful liquid in their hands, and I felt a nagging feeling start up in my gut.

_Follow them. _

The voice was back, and back to giving me commands. However, the urgency in this particular command got me riled up in a new way, so I followed, quickly, directly on their heels after only a few seconds. I turned the corner right after they did, and felt my heart almost screech to a stop when I caught a glimpse of Rachel at her locker. She was humming to herself, organizing her books and paperwork to head toward my locker... to meet me. She must have been running late.

The football players clutched the cups in their hands tighter, then pulled them back. I ran forward, dodging under an arm, and felt my head pound, like my brain could erupt from my temples at any time. Rachel saw me, gave me a confused look, then saw _why _I had just jumped in front of her.

"Quinn, what are you doing?" Rachel asked, seemingly resigned to her fate. Like she had gone through this routine a hundred times before. Maybe she had. But it didn't matter, because as long as I was around, it wouldn't happen again.

"Saving you," I said with a smile. The football players laughed in our direction, then consulted for a moment.

"Both of them," one of the boys said loudly. They moved their hands back, preparing to throw, and I closed my eyes hard, then opened them, and found that my focus was lined up with the cups directly. Then, almost like it was happening in slow motion, the colorful ice flew in our direction, then shifted and showered the entire line-up of boys, ruining their shirts, their jackets, and dripping down their faces in uncomfortable looking clumps.

"Dude, what the hell?" another cursed loudly, wiping his entire face and flicking off purple globs. I expected to hear laughter. I expected to hear cheers. I expected some sort of reaction from Rachel.

I turned around, and saw Rachel's brow furrowed. I saw her jaw clenched slightly, like she was in a strange trance. Like she wasn't able to just pass what had happened off as luck or a happy accident. Truthfully, I wasn't sure what _exactly _had happened. I suspected it was my telekinetic powers coming into play, joining the array of whatever else I had been equipped with and making itself useful for the first time.

The jocks weren't known for their intelligence, so they would be more likely to suspend disbelief, whine about their clothes, fight off a bout of embarrassment, and then move on.

But Rachel...

"Rachel?" I asked. She shook her head, and then looked at me. But this time, when she did, it seemed different somehow, as if she were processing in a way I had never been privy to in previous encounters. It worried me, but when she smiled, even though it was delayed, I allowed the feelings and questions I held to meander toward the back of my mind.

"Thank you," Rachel whispered, still partially shell-shocked from the look of her. Her eyes were wide, her stance was hunched, and she stared in an area that was just past me before she locked on me again, studying me closer. Never in my life had I felt like I had truly been under a moment, even though I had been in the past countless times. But in that moment, I felt like I was being analyzed, and that she wasn't quite sure she understood or was all right with what she was seeing.

"Don't thank me," I said simply. She nodded, then bit down gently on her bottom lip like she was trying to curb her usually verbose speech. I loved that she constantly said what was on her mind. I loved that she asked a thousand questions.

When her hand slipped into mine, it felt exquisite as always, but there was something different. There was something missing.

Everything was too silent.

I had read about the quiet before the storm, and I couldn't help but feel that perhaps a storm had just settled in on my horizon, and was waiting for the most inopportune moment to strike up ferocity like I had never known.

This silence followed us to the car, then to her house, and I wasn't a conversationalist unless she prompted me. I knew that I could call on Quinn, but I wasn't about to bring forth that charming, primal beast to play happy family with Rachel's fathers. Although, the silence was slowly creeping at my resolve and shattering any confidence I had stirred up and had been clinging to like a life preserver.

"So, as you know, this is my house," Rachel said, effectively breaking the silence. My hands gripped my steering wheel, and I looked at Rachel, who was sitting with her hands folded daintily in her lap. I smiled at her, and she smiled back, but it was different. It was... concerned? Anxious?

The fact that I hadn't a basis strong enough to decipher the finer points of human emotion made me frustrated. How was I supposed to adapt?

I had to do more research, read more books.

This simply wouldn't do.

"Do you ever get the feeling that something cataclysmic is about to happen, and there's nothing you can do to stop it?"

Rachel smirked, and I felt a lightness that didn't last for longer than a second. She seemed to be back to the Rachel I knew, at least more than silent Rachel that had been my passenger since we left school.

She eyed me gently, playfully, then took my hand in hers.

"You're nervous, aren't you?"

This was so much more than nerves.

But, this also fell into the category of things I could not discuss with Rachel. Things that should still be shrouded in mystery, until I was absolutely sure.

_Quinn. Please. _

"Yeah, it's just nerves," Quinn said, then leaned across the seat to kiss Rachel. Their lips met in a searing kiss that left Rachel breathless.

"What was that for?" Rachel asked, her smile bright and completely clear. Joyous, from my limited studies. It was my best guess. "Not that I'm complaining. Because I'm not, not at all."

"I just needed to know that whatever happens, you've got me, too," Quinn said. Rachel blushed, ducked her head, then stroked the back of Quinn's hand.

"I've got you, too."

Quinn nodded, and they made the seemingly long trek to Rachel's front door. Her father, the one we had already met, Jacob, opened the door and greeted all of us with a bright, cheery smile.

"Hello, darling. Quinn, it's lovely to see you again," Jacob said. "I'm so glad you could come over. And, you know, that you're back."

"I hated leaving in the first place, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do," Quinn replied calmly.

"Family matters can be tricky," Jacob said. "Rachel told me. I hope everything worked out, though."

Wait. She what?

Rachel _lied _for me?

To her _fathers?_

Quinn looked at Rachel, who held fast and strong to her hand.

"Yes, everything's fine. Thank you for asking, and thanks again for inviting me back into your home."

"Please," Jacob said. "You're welcome any time."

"Come on, Quinn," Rachel said, tugging on Quinn's hand. "You've already met this one. I want you to meet my other daddy."

She bellowed down the hallway for her other father, and I could barely make out the sound of shuffling footsteps, heavy and growing closer, from another segment of the house.

Then, he appeared in the doorway.

Tall, dark skin, broad shoulders.

Handsome.

Familiar.

Quinn looked at his face, studying it, and I could feel her gears turning. She was acting upon a purpose that was not her own. But, just as I did when I was out of my league, she fell short. Logic and reason were not her purpose.

I could feel the heat rising, and knew there was very little I could do to stop it from reaching a full boil.

"Quinn, allow me to introduce you to my other father, Dr. Marcus Berry."

I saw his blue eyes.

So did Quinn.

Then, everything crashed into me like a train at full speed.

Everything made sense.

And then I realized that coming here was a terrible, _terrible _idea.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: You guys are amazing! I've mentioned that, haven't I? Couple times? Well, I'm saying it again, because you are. Also, I'd like to say that I hope I didn't disappoint everyone with the fact that Marcus is Rachel's father/Quinn/22-B's Creator. I had this story planned out from the very beginning, in order, because it was a dream I had. I know it wasn't the most surprising twist, but my brain perhaps isn't that clever in its subconscious state. However, I do hope you all are still enjoying the direction I'm taking this. The chapter you're about to read will give you a few more answers, although I'm pretty sure you won't like all of them. It's okay... Quinn/22-B isn't happy about it, either. Also, I'd like to take a moment to send a special shout-out to _lectora13_, who created this awesome fanart for my story and posted it on her Tumblr. Thank you so much for your brilliant work, and for promoting this story. I love writing for all of you, and I love creating and developing this world. So, please, drop me a line... let me know what you're thinking, because I'd love to hear it. With that said (and it was a lot, I'm sorry), please enjoy.**

* * *

><p>I was underwater, fighting for control. I had, in a move that was not smart, given up control to Quinn, and even though most of the time, I could just ask nicely and she'd give up hers, I couldn't get her to budge at my current juncture. She was fighting back, determined to keep her position. I screamed, yelled, cursed at her in my head, fought back from whatever hole she had put me in and tried my best to claw to the surface. However, I couldn't even see a glimmer of light leading me to the correct destination. I couldn't see the way.<p>

For the first time, I was truly lost.

Quinn clenched her fist and stared forward, her eyes boring holes all over the tall man's face. I could feel Rachel watching us, looking at our rigid posture, trying to read us, but I knew that she could not. She was used to me, not Quinn. At least, she spent most of her time with me. It was better that way.

"Quinn," Marcus said warmly, offering a smile. I noticed that he didn't extend his hand. No doubt he could see the fire in Quinn's eyes; he was the one who put it there. He probably knew better. "Welcome to our home. Rachel's said so much about you."

His words were all carefully chosen. I noticed them, noticed him creating them in his mind, as if he was planning every syllable. As if all of it, somehow, was rehearsed.

"All good things, I hope," Quinn said, not breaking character, even though I could feel the lava in her veins.

"Absolutely," Marcus replied. "Besides, her words aren't all the precede you. Rachel's been much happier since she met you, and as a parent, that makes you more apt to welcome someone."

He took a step toward Rachel, and wrapped his arm around her.

I felt Quinn grimace on the inside. She would never, ever show that face amongst mixed company.

He was using her as a human shield, just in case Quinn was pushed to her limit. When logic didn't exist, it was harder to grasp the tiny threads of control. Who knew what would set her off, really?

Especially when she was already so, so close.

It was like a scene from an old Western film; the stand-off. Quinn looked at Marcus, turning her head to the side almost imperceptibly, regarding him and knowing exactly what he was. He, in turn, looked at her in the same fashion, but held an air of pride. We were in _his _house, after all.

And his daughter brought us here.

But, I had sensed from the beginning that all had gone according exactly to his plan. I likely had no say in the matter, and Quinn, poor Quinn had just been dragging behind me, ready for the ride.

"Well," Rachel said, smiling brightly at both of us and breaking the silence. "I don't know what Daddy has planned for dinner tonight, but since all of us are under one roof, it's bound to be spectacular. And, I don't know how handy you are with a knife, Quinn, but vegetables probably need to be cut and Daddy loves help."

At the word "knife," Quinn perked up and smiled slyly, completely in Marcus' direction. He may have swallowed at the look, but since Rachel was still at his side, I knew there was no way she would react negatively.

I sensed anger in her, but why?

Because he hadn't given her control?

Because he was, in essence, why we were keeping secrets from Rachel?

Because he had created us in the first place?

"I'm a terrible cook," Quinn said.

I wasn't sure whether that was a lie or not. I frequently ordered take-out and cooked microwave meals for convenience.

At least, I had when I was adjusting to human life before I went back to that room. My cell. Since I was back amongst the humans, I fully intended on taking up that lifestyle again. I had never intended on learning to cook. Everything was made so simple in the modern world.

"Chopping vegetables is an easy task, though," Rachel said. "I'll help you."

Rachel bounded toward Quinn and grabbed her hand. I saw Marcus watching, taking in his daughter's every movement. He didn't seem alarmed or unsure of where she was headed, just observing with that careful, scientific gleam in his eyes like he was crunching numbers.

He wasn't afraid of me hurting her, even though Quinn could easily incinerate her.

He wasn't worried about me hurting her at all, it seemed.

Either of us.

"Rachel, I..." Quinn said, and I felt her insecurities flare up. She didn't want to be around sharp objects, did not want to feel the temptation of a blade in her hand, because she didn't want Rachel to hate her.

I didn't want Rachel to hate us, either.

I knew that Quinn lacked control, that she didn't care who she hurt, but apparently, because we had learned how to care for Rachel, we had learned other things not to do. Quinn had learned about hurting someone by proxy. Destroy Marcus, and in turn, destroy the person that we feel an indescribable urge to protect.

"Part of the fun of a Berry family meal is the cooking process," Rachel explained. "Even the prep work. Normally, Papa and I will chop vegetables and do the the other prep work, while Daddy will put everything together and work his magic. Sometimes, I'll sing, and sometimes, we all start singing. Although, Papa is not the stronger singer."

Marcus chuckled from a place deep within his throat and looked kindly at his daughter.

"I haven't the skills of my little songbird," Marcus said. "I don't know if you've heard my Rachel sing yet, Quinn, but she is spectacular."

"I look forward to hearing her sing," Quinn replied.

"She makes me nervous," Rachel confessed to her father. "I know that I'm leaps and bounds above the other kids and rightly so, I've worked hardest for it, but I want to be..."

"Perfect?" Marcus added, filling in the blanks, and Rachel nodded. Then, he looked to Quinn again, and when he looked at us, it was like a command. "I'm sure Quinn would think nothing less of you."

Rachel scoffed and stamped her foot a little, her eyes tracing between Quinn and her father.

"That's what she says, Papa, but between you, Daddy, and her, I'm going to get a fantastical ego, and _then _what will you do with me?"

Marcus laughed again.

"The same thing we've always done since you gained that fantastical ego at age six, darling," Marcus said. "Tolerate it."

Rachel pouted and stomped her foot harder.

"Oh, hush, you!"

Then, she looked at Quinn, her eyes gentle and sweet, as always.

"Incorrigible," Rachel said, shaking her head in disbelief. "My ego is _not _that bad. I'm just confident. And confidence is an attractive feature to have, isn't it?"

I could feel Marcus' eyes on me again, which meant Quinn must have felt it to a staggering degree. I was surprised she was holding up this well, and while part of me wanted to leave an option to swap places open for her, the other part of me wasn't sure I could hold up any better, even with my logical brain and better understanding of theories I had created on sleepless nights.

"You know I think you're wonderful," Quinn cooed softly.

The fact that she could be so tender with Rachel never failed to surprise me.

She wasn't built for that kind of thing, after all.

But then again, neither was I, and I supposed that emotion on a general level, no matter its primary manifestation, was closer to fondness than logic was on any given day. So, perhaps she had the advantage to begin with.

"Wonderful enough to help me chop vegetables even if you're seemingly against cooking?" Rachel asked, batting her eyelashes a little.

I felt Quinn get woozy, unsteady on her feet.

Rachel Berry was an incredible human.

"Um, I..." Quinn said, stumbling over her naturally eloquent words for the first time in our shared existence. It would have been laughable if the situation wasn't so precarious. There was a sense of valiant pride behind her actions, and it gave me hope that perhaps she and I could continue this co-existence in a peaceful manner, learning each others' ticks and when to switch. When to best utilize the division of our powers. She could be the brawn, I'd be the brains.

But then Rachel got involved, and even rationale couldn't isolate the logistics and craft them sensibly in my head.

I didn't want to share Rachel.

I didn't want to explain Quinn to Rachel.

I didn't want to explain _me _to Rachel, but I knew that in one way or another, that was pretty inevitable.

"Rachel, honey," Marcus said, cutting in when Quinn continued fumbling for a second longer. "Why don't you run along and help your Daddy start with the vegetable prep. I have a few things I'd like to talk to Quinn about."

Rachel's face fell slightly, and her cheeks reddened.

What could she think he wanted to talk to me about?

"Papa, I thought I said that you shouldn't-"

Marcus held up a hand, and I noticed that it was comically large, almost in a cartoon caricature way. It would be intimidating if we weren't thoroughly irritated with him and knew that we could level him like a stick of dynamite would a building.

"Rachel," Marcus said again, his tone leaving no room for further argument.

"If I may," Rachel began after she took two steps toward the kitchen door. She turned around and looked her father dead in the eyes. "Not long. I would like her to come back, after all."

Marcus laughed softly, then nodded.

"I'll be gentle on Quinn, darling. Now go make yourself helpful."

Rachel was out of sight, and I felt as though my security blanket had been wrenched free from my hands, no matter how hard I had fought. Quinn must have felt it, too, because when he started to move from his position, I heard her in my head.

Panicked.

_I'll kill him, 22._

No, you won't. We can't. Rachel.

_You don't understand. I'll kill him._

Her tone didn't change. He took two steps closer, and I could feel her anger and her fear rise simultaneously, as if one was linked directly to the other emotion.

You're serious, aren't you?

_Very. Switch. Now._

I shook my head, loosening the muscles in my neck and popping my knuckles out of habit. I felt Quinn fade into the background, then disappear entirely, like a balloon floating away and finally out of sight.

"Rachel can't know what we're about to discuss," Marcus began.

"We're discussing something?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Hello again, by the way."

"I know this isn't Quinn," Marcus said, smirking. "Well, your Primal Self. I know which version of you this is, who has control. I can see it in your eyes, sure as you're thinking and plotting. I created you, never forget that."

"But why?" I snapped. "That's the part I still don't get. Every ounce of light that's been shed on the situation, and still that variable remains. What are you not telling me?"

I felt myself recoil like the rubber from a broken rubber band. The energy was now gone, and I was settling back into my initial state of rest and logical calm. Marcus glanced at me, then looked longingly toward the kitchen.

Toward, I suspected if he could look directly through a wall, where Rachel would be.

"She _can't _know," Marcus reiterated.

"I can't lie," I stated simply.

"You'll get the Primal to lie for you," Marcus said. "It's a very simple part of your functional skill. When you find something difficult or taxing, you draw upon your strengths, naturally. The Primal is a strength; a massive strength. A mighty wind, and you'll use her when you get yourself into trouble."

"I don't want trouble."

"It's bound to follow you, given what you are and what I've done."

_What I've done..._

"What have you done, Dr. Berry?"

He laughed, then ran his fingers through his hair.

"Other than creating you for my own stupid, selfish reasons, you mean?" Marcus asked, adding a self-deprecating chuckle to his reserves. "I suppose in some ways, that was my only crime, although it was a big one."

"You tampered with your experiment. You used your work in a way the Government didn't sanction, didn't you?"

"Don't use that tone with me!" Marcus practically growled. "You consider yourself lucky to have breath in your lungs and to be able to have the life you do. If you would have just been any Supersoldier, you'd be in one of the Cryogenesis chambers waiting for the next World War III. And when that happened, you'd be released, you'd kill hundreds, possibly hundreds of thousands, maybe more... and then they'd bring you back, and they'd incinerate you."

They'd...

Incinerate?

But _why?_

"I got to be human," I said simply.

"You were my best creation," Marcus said. "Other than being nearly flawless on a physical level, I also used you as an experiment to test a Supersoldier's ability to retain emotion, to think as humans do. To reason and weigh facts, options. They wanted me to create one, possibly two Supersoldiers for Covert Ops. For tactical use, outside of a battlefield."

"What sort of Covert Ops?"

"Interrogation. Torture. Undercover operations," Marcus explained. "Fields that people, humans, need specialized training for. Specialized training that is becoming incredibly expensive given that the people we're training aren't to the degree of intelligence we need for the jobs. It's a waste of money on an already hemorrhaging economy, and I was hired to develop a solution."

"Me."

"Yes, exactly you," Marcus said. "You were doing well. Your brain was developing well, you were responding to the correct stimulus, and then I got greedy. I started wondering if I could create other personality traits in you. If I could make you, I don't know, well-rounded, I suppose."

"If I was to do military work, why was that necessary?"

Marcus motioned for me to sit in the living room, in the chair across from his sofa. He sat, playing with his hands in his lap, then looked at me when we had settled. He moved us further away from the hallway leading to the kitchen. I suspected that it meant our conversation was about to get even more interesting.

I was finally about to get my answers.

"I'm two things, Quinn," Marcus started to explain. "One, a scientist, and two, a father. The scientist in me is always thinking, always working an angle, always asking questions and wondering 'what if?' But the father... I love my little girl. I love her more than anything."

"She's remarkable."

I saw Marcus' eye become misted, and he wiped at it immediately, dabbing at it slightly with his meticulously well-pressed shirt sleeve.

"Imagine seeing your remarkable little girl come home every day acting like someone had stolen the sunshine out of her world," Marcus said, his voice slightly distant, as if it were lost in a memory. "She'd come home, and you'd ask about her day. She'd tell you basic details, to throw you off the scent, but you'd know she was leaving things out. You'd watch her walk up the stairs to her room and notice that she's not the same, bouncing, unstoppable ball of energy that you raised, that you knew before high school began. Then, as a scientist, you'd start to ask questions. You'd start to wonder why..."

I shook my head.

I could practically feel his pain, like a touch, like a palpable phantom in the room, hanging above our heads.

"I followed her to school one day. She had just bought a new dress, for Glee try-outs. She saved her birthday money, because she wanted something 'nice and fashionable' that her friend Kurt would comment on in a positive way," Marcus continued. "I parked around the corner, where she wouldn't notice my car. I watched a group of other students approach her, and my heart lifted, only for a second, when I thought that maybe, just maybe, my Rachel was finally making friends. She wants so badly to belong, and she wanted to become one of the 'popular' crowd. I think that's common for teenagers, girls especially. I watched two of the boys pick her up and throw her in the dumpster. I couldn't hear it, but I saw them jeering and could tell they were laughing at her. I watched them slam the lid, and I watched them walk away."

"Did you go after her?" I asked, sitting on the edge of my seat, captivated and heartbroken by the earnest quality of his words and the pain etched onto his handsome face.

"Of _course _I did!" Marcus said, his jaw set and fire lighting in his eyes like he'd be shocked I'd ask such a thing. "I lifted her out of that dumpster, and I carried her all the way to the car. She was covered in food and trash, and she smelled, and she was crying. I offered to call the police, to sue the school, to have every one of those barbarians suspended, but do you know what she did?"

"What?"

"She asked me to put her down," Marcus said. "She asked me to leave her alone, and let her deal with this, because I'd just make it worse. That, if they saw me coming to her rescue, they'd make it worse on her because I'm her Papa. She told me... she told me that she'd just have to make friends on her own, and maybe, she'd get lucky enough to find some sort of knight in shining armor that would scare them all away."

"But Rachel's amazing, I don't know why they wouldn't... why anyone wouldn't..."

"I don't know, either," Marcus said. "But that incident became weeks away, then months away, and then I saw more and more of her clothes in the trash, because they were cut or stained or sticky from those damn slushy drinks. And I knew that I had to fix it. And I did fix it."

"You created a friend," I said, nodding my head with somber understanding.

"I gave her someone to confide in, someone to trust. And more importantly, someone I could trust _with _her. Someone who would be her ideal," Marcus said. "Somebody that wouldn't lie to her, wouldn't betray her, and would... someone who would protect her, at any cost. Who _could _protect her."

"You created a Supersoldier to protect Rachel from schoolyard bullies?" I said, suddenly feeling my own temperature rising. "Forgive me if that seems a little extreme."

"It's more than the bullies, Quinn. There's talk of another war, of a new war... and if they unleash the Supersoldiers upon this world, it's going to be hell on Earth. And I helped create it," Marcus said sadly. "They're still unstable, but the military, they don't see that. They see a chance at winning, and they're able to cut their losses. I don't want any harm to come to Rachel, and if anything like that happened, you'd be the only person who could protect her. Especially since she'd have a target on her back."

"What do you mean, a target?"

"I created you," Marcus emphasized. "_All _of you. Deep down, you're all hard-wired, like machines. There's no visible signature, but if you pushed hard enough, you'd figure out who created you. And, if you were angry enough, you might come after that creator... and who better to use for collateral damage against such a man than his innocent, defenseless daughter?"

"They'd come for her?"

"They might," Marcus said. "It's a big if, but I know too much to take chances."

"Why can't I just explain to her that..."

"You cannot, and I repeat, _cannot _tell Rachel any of what I've told you," Marcus said. "It would destroy her. I can't lose her over this, and I don't think she'd truly understand why I had to do it. She'd see it as a betrayal, and while she'd most definitely distance herself from me, she'd likely distance herself from you as well. And then you'd never be able to get close enough."

"Quinn? Papa?" Rachel's voice called from the kitchen, snapping both of us from our heated discussion. I looked toward the kitchen, feeling my heart rise all the way to my throat. How easily she could affect me, it was almost surreal.

I looked back to Marcus, to my creator, and then...

_Surreal. _

Surreal: having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream; unreal.

_Unreal_.

I was created. Everything about me, down to my last power and personality trait was crafted, carefully crafted, by this man who sat across from me. This man who had quite literally created me for his daughter, to be her friend. To be her caretaker and protector.

"I feel so much for her," I said aloud.

He regarded me with kind eyes.

"I know you do," Marcus replied. "It's supposed to be this way."

"Rachel feels much for me as well," I continued.

He pursed his lips together and furrowed his brow.

"Naturally," Marcus said simply. "Rachel feels things more intensely than most people, and you are very special, and your... qualities are everything she's been looking for without even realizing it."

"So it's surreal."

"No, I wouldn't say it's surreal," Marcus explained. He pushed his hands together, cracked his knuckles, and looked at me again. "It's coaxed, perhaps. Your feelings for Rachel. I put them there, in essence, but I didn't _create _them. You learned to feel emotions on your own. You just were led to Rachel."

"And hers? Did she even have a choice?" I said, feeling the fire light in my belly and grow. It grew, it consumed, and I almost felt like Quinn and I were becoming one.

"Of course she had a choice," Marcus said. "She still does. Because Rachel would easily turn away from something if it felt wrong for any reason. Don't do that to her."

"This is wrong," I said. "To humans, love is a beautiful thing, and love should not be fabricated or coaxed or surreal. It should be special, and should be chosen, not forced upon, and if Rachel is to love me... and if my feelings are leading to love for her. I've theorized about this, and I believe they are..."

"Love?" Marcus asked, his eyes deep with curiosity and something else. I looked closely, needing to know. He kept secrets and answers from me for so long, and I wasn't going to let him keep one single thing from me any longer. I pulled deep, exhausting myself with looking, but found it and snatched it from the air, pulling that emotion, that tiny flicker into my hands and holding it above my head like a trophy.

Concern.

But why?

"I'm not certain, but you'd know, wouldn't you? You created everything about me, you'd know if I'm programmed to love Rachel."

"Love was never a factor," Marcus said. "Love was never an option."

"Wait, what?"

"You're supposed to be her friend, a platonic companion," Marcus said. "You're supposed to protect her, and be able to do so in a way that keeps your wits about you. Love... that ruins everything."

"I'm not certain that I love her," I argued.

"Make certain that you don't," Marcus said. "Or..."

My eyes hardened.

"Or what?"

"Or there's reprogramming that will need to be done."

A gentle knocking on the door frame broke our silence.

Rachel's eyes looked to both of us, a slight smile gracing her beautiful features.

"I'm done chopping, but Daddy and I are getting lonely in there and we've decided that you need to stop grilling Quinn and join us," Rachel said, addressing her father, then looking back to me. Our eyes locked, and I watched her features change almost instantly from content happiness to outright joy.

This was getting too steep.

If I was not allowed to love her, I could not afford for her to love me.

Marcus looked at his daughter, then back at me.

Then, his voice sounded in my head.

One day, I'd have to ask him how that was possible.

_Fake a phone call. Fake something. You need to leave, 22-B._

My heart tugged me in one direction. It wanted me to be defiant. Quinn was preparing for battle.

I jumped a little in my seat, then retrieved my phone from my pocket and pretended to read something on the blank screen. Then, I looked apologetically at Rachel.

"Sometimes, the vibrate feature startles me," I said, explaining my actions. "It's legal issues... concerning my caretaker's estate. I'm afraid I have to excuse myself, go home, and deal with this."

Rachel's face fell.

Marcus stood up, and I followed suit. He extended his hand, and his eyes were surged with gratitude.

"Well, we'll forgive you this time," Marcus joked. "But it was lovely getting a chance to meet you, Quinn."

Rachel crossed her arms, and I could not decipher all the jumbled thoughts and emotions she was radiating.

"I'm sorry," I apologized again. "I wouldn't go, but..."

"Family matters," Rachel said curtly. "I understand. I'll walk you out."

"You'll say goodbye to the other Mr. Berry for me?" I asked, wanting to continue the charade. Rachel was smart enough to see through a single hole, and if I hadn't already left one, I certainly didn't want to create any.

"Naturally," Marcus replied. "And Quinn? Please don't be a stranger."

"Oh, she won't be," Rachel said, irritation clouding her voice when she spoke to her father. Then, she grabbed my hand and led me to the front door.

The door shut behind us, and we stood out on the landing.

Rachel swayed in her spot, then looked up at me.

"I'm sorry," she apologized.

I looked at her, and instantly reached out to stroke her cheek. To comfort her.

"What could you possibly be sorry for?"

"My Papa... I don't know what he said to make you leave, but I know there wasn't a text message. I know that you're looking for an exit because of something he likely said or did, and for that, I apologize. I hadn't wanted it to go this way," Rachel explained. "I always knew he'd be protective when I had somebody special in my life, though. I should have known better."

"Rachel, he..."

"Are you seriously going to tell me that he's not the reason you're leaving?" Rachel said, cutting me off and arching a defiant eyebrow.

It was a fire and a passion in her that I had never seen before.

It was almost like Quinn was rubbing off on her.

Like we were changing her.

Like in my time away, life had hardened her a little, made her skin a little thicker, and took away her belief in fairy tales.

"No," I replied. "But don't be cross with him."

"I can't promise that," Rachel said. "I really, really wanted you to stay."

"Tomorrow," I breathed out. "Tomorrow, we'll get take-out and watch movies at my apartment. Would that be all right?"

I knew it was a bad plan.

Being alone with Rachel, where there would be so many opportunities to get closer to her, and for more feelings to develop? It was like watering a toxic seed.

Yet, I couldn't help myself.

Rachel beamed, grinning from ear to ear.

"You're wonderful," she breathed, then moved forward, looping her arms around my waist loosely and snuggling into the crook of my neck. She inhaled, and I stroked her back. Then, she turned her head up and placed a soft, tender kiss on my lips. "Drive home safely? Text me when you get there?"

"Of course. Goodnight, Rachel." I said. Then, she nodded, breathed in the scent of my t-shirt one more time, and waved at me before disappearing into her house.

I should have left instantly.

I shouldn't have lingered behind, hiding beneath the pane of their living room window, pressing my ear forward to hear the conversation between Rachel and Marcus.

But I did.

I heard every word.

"You're horrible, Papa!"

"Rachel, I don't know what you're-"

"Save it. I like this girl, okay? I really, really like her, and you're scaring her away! She's already skittish, and doesn't really understand how to interact like you and I. She's different, but she's sweet, and she's good to me, and I could..."

"You could, what, darling?"

"I could love this one, okay? And now you've possibly ruined everything! Tell Daddy that I will be requesting my dinner in my room tonight. I don't wish to speak to you right now."

Rachel stomped away, and I could hear her heavy footsteps all the way upstairs before they stopped.

A smile reached my face before it faded.

Rachel could love me.

Rachel could.

But I couldn't love her.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I'm so grateful to all of my readers, and all of your great reviews! I seriously appreciate it. In case you thought there wasn't enough drama in this story already, I'm about to introduce a few more obstacles. Don't hate me; I promise this story will have a happy ending. Although happy is kind of in the eye of the beholder, isn't it? Enjoy!**

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><p>I was a creature of habit, and yet, I found myself so emotionally and mentally exhausted after my evening at the Berry household that I overslept and literally slept through my alarm. Three of them, to be specific. Which meant, my body had been so tired that it needed some sort of drastic reset. I apologized to Quinn, finding that she was still silent. It was nice to have some sort of reprieve from the voices, even if hers would have been preferred to that of my creator. I saw that it was well past noon when I woke up, so heading to school would be pointless. I arranged some food, finding leftover granola in one of my cabinets, likely from Rachel, and ate a few handfuls before heading to the shower.<p>

Things stayed quiet, and I became pleasantly accustomed to my life without sound. I could hear the birds chirping outside. I could hear the occasional car driving by. I heard the laughter of children when the elementary school let them outside. I could hear _everything, _and I felt incredibly alive.

I remembered Marcus' words from the night before, about taking things for granted, about the fact that I should have been more thankful for having breath in my lungs. I held tight to this, because if I continued to cause problems, I could easily have those privileges taken away from me. Granted, the first time, I had gone to him willingly, but I still was unsure just how far his reach would stretch, or exactly how much power he had over me. Over both of us. It seemed like it would be an easy enough bout hand to hand, Marcus was clearly unmatched in a sheer test of physical strength, and perhaps I even had an upper hand in the intelligence portion of my functional brain as well, but he had the ability to literally predict my every move. Because he knew me.

Because he _made _me.

And that kind of advantage was deadly.

A knocking sounded at the door, and I was startled for a moment, not used to the louder sounds that weren't peaceful or slightly far away. Then, my stomach sank when I realized what the knocking meant. Rachel. Rachel was here, and because I invited her.

The night before, I had dreams. Not the kind of dreams from before, with my jumbled memories trying desperately to piece together, but something that seemed like a premonition. A prediction of what _could _be, and a terrifying glimpse into the future that Marcus suggested.

I saw fire and ashes, with bodies everywhere. Buildings had been burned to the ground, people were screaming, cars were turned upside down and on end, with giant gaping holes through the metal that could have been made by a fist, but certainly not a human one. Body parts lined the streets, lined the fields, lined the world, and the air stunk with the smell of decay and smoke.

I remember the sky was dark, like it, too, had been burned.

I was tucked behind one of those overturned cars, and Rachel was in my arms. I was trying to keep her quiet, but it was difficult because, as I looked closer, I realized that she had a mortal wound in her stomach. She was dying.

I tried to calm her, but could not.

I had likely tried to save her, but again, fell short.

She died in my arms.

Then I woke up.

The knocking resounded, breaking me from my thoughts, granting me a moment's solace, and I looked on helplessly. Again, there was a door between us, and I did not have the courage to open it and let Rachel inside.

If there was to be a war, if it was inevitable and only a matter of time, it wouldn't do for me to be selfish and allow emotions to dictate my future. Or Rachel's future. _Especially _Rachel's future.

I didn't ever want that dream to become reality.

And yet, I was the one who invited her to my home.

I was fighting the internal war with myself, with logic and reason against human emotion, that would do me no good at all in wars that were to come. Rachel wasn't a pawn in a chess game, nor was she a means to an end. She wasn't a test of how human I could be, a constant press of a button to check the limits of what I could and could not feel.

"Quinn, are you home?" Rachel called from the other side of the door. "Your car's outside, and I missed you at school..."

I perked up, realizing that there was a chance I could trick her into thinking that I wasn't home, and perhaps then, she'd think sensibly and just go home.

I heard the jingling of metal, and cursed inwardly.

"What am I, stupid? I have a key. It's not like she doesn't know I'm coming, I'll just wait..." Rachel mumbled, but I could still hear it. I could hear everything. I took two steps toward the door and rested my hand on the handle, turning it slightly, then opening it before Rachel could get her key in the lock.

Goodbye, reason. Goodbye, logic.

Hello, Rachel.

"Quinn," Rachel breathed out. She smiled, ear to ear, and it sent me reeling instantly. I felt that it was shameful to have such an instantaneous reaction to her, like she was hard-wired to my reflexes. It was another variable that I couldn't control, and this one needed badly to be controlled. I was just weak.

"I overslept," I stated.

A look of concern passed over her delicate features, and she looked at me closely, inspecting me again like there would be a visible sign of damage. Maybe there was, and I just couldn't see it, but could only feel the aftermath.

"You look tired," Rachel commented. "Have you not been sleeping well?"

"I slept a lot last night," I replied.

"Yes, but are you sleeping _well_? The quality of sleep is very important, too. It's not just as simple as the number of hours you're getting. Quality relates to how refreshed you are upon waking, and you certainly don't look refreshed."

My face fell. She was too good, too smart, and entirely too much to handle.

Why did she have to be the person I was created for? In some ways, I wondered if perhaps it wouldn't have been better if I was just like the others, with a simple purpose and incredibly limited control.

My life wouldn't be rich, and I wouldn't have much reason for living, but I also wouldn't have the struggles and the doubts and the insecurities, fear, and other humanoid emotion. I could live without.

But then I'd have to live without Rachel, and that fact alone made me realize that even though living wasn't easy, it was worth it for opportunities to see her smile or hear her laugh. Even opportunities to watch her fuss over me, concern written all over every inch of her face, made me realize that yes, I might not be able to have everything, but I'd choose a flawed, emotionally taxing human life over that of a mindless killing machine.

I stared at her, and that must have done something to Rachel, because she just continued speaking. It was frantic, rushed, like she was reading into things in a way that weren't necessarily the correct assumptions.

"I didn't mean to say that you don't look... good, or anything. You look great! Wonderful, even," Rachel sighed. She tilted her head and smiled, glancing back and forth between my eyes and my lips. She licked her bottom lip absently, then whimpered in a way that was almost inaudible, if not for my excellent hearing and odd sense of being perfectly in-tune with Rachel. "You _always _look beautiful, Quinn."

"I didn't take your comment to be negative," I stated evenly. "I haven't been sleeping well. The quality has been poor, as you said, which is having a negative effect on my routine."

"May I come in?" Rachel asked gently.

I knew it wasn't a good idea, but I invited her.

I wanted to lie.

I couldn't lie.

But then, I remembered: the night before, my excuse... that had been a lie. I had lied independently of Quinn. I had lied when Marcus directed it, but a lie was still a lie, right?

I did it once, and I could do it again.

Sorry, Rachel.

"I'm actually not feeling we-"

A searing pain shot through my body, like I was being electrocuted, and I gripped the door frame. My vision went blurry, faded, and I felt myself sinking to my knees. Warm hands gripped me, and surprisingly strong arms led me to the floor, where I was gently lowered instead of dropping like an anvil. Rachel shushed me, calmed me, worried over me, and began stroking my hair.

She wrapped her arms around me, and called my name gently.

"Quinn," Rachel soothed. "Quinn, what's wrong? God, do I need to call an ambulance? Because I will. I'll call right this very instant. Quinn, answer me."

I blinked twice, trying to focus my vision, but could not.

I moved forward, sinking further into the warmth of Rachel's embrace. I breathed her in, and felt my senses realign, and a slight bout of clarity return.

That was a bad plan.

I had thoroughly learned my lesson on _that _one. The message had been received loud and clear.

No more attempting to lie to Rachel. Check.

"Rachel," I said, my voice sounding gravelly and not its normal timbre.

"Quinn, don't try to speak," Rachel said softly. "Just nod if you're feeling any better at all. You started to say you weren't feeling well, and apparently you've not been sleeping. I don't think I can carry you inside, and don't take this the wrong way, but you're kind of strangely heavy. And you really don't look like you weigh much."

I didn't have an answer for that.

But, since she had given me permission not to speak, I didn't have to attempt another lie.

Not that I would ever try to do such a thing again.

I nodded and pressed my face against the cotton of her shirt. She really did smell amazing, and I was content to just lay there and breathe, like it was the only thing I needed in the world. Her hands stroked my back, and she hummed quietly for a moment before speaking again.

"Please don't scare me like that," Rachel said quietly. "I don't know what I'd do if anything bad happened to you."

"I'm feeling much better now," I replied honestly.

"Really?" Rachel asked, eyes bright and hopeful.

"Yeah," I said. "I think you had something to do with it, actually."

"I don't know that such a thing is medically possible," Rachel said, but her smile never faded.

I was still slightly delirious. I shouldn't have said what I did, but the words came out anyway.

"Then you're a miracle."

Really, things like that would not be helpful to my cause.

"Are you going to invite me inside when you can stand up?"

Back to square one.

"Actually..." I said, treading carefully. "We always spend so much time at my place, when we're together. Why don't we try something different? You can pick a place, and we'll go... out on the town."

Rachel looked at me curiously.

"People don't do much in Lima because there isn't much to do in Lima, Quinn," Rachel replied. "It's not because we'd much rather stay indoors."

"We'll find our own fun," I pressed. "We'll make our own fun. Come on, Rachel. Where's your sense of adventure?"

It was a cliched challenge, but I knew enough of Rachel to know that she couldn't back down from a challenge, no matter the context. It would denounce some of her integrity, and she certainly had a lot of that.

Going out seemed like a safe enough idea. It wouldn't give us an opportunity to be too close with one another, nor would it allow for enough privacy for us to default on base emotion. We'd have to converse in a respectable manner, and perhaps Rachel wouldn't be comfortable with excessive amounts of physicality in the public eye. She grinned, then linked our fingers together.

"Are you trying to ask me out on a date, Quinn Fabray?"

Another failure. Another botched attempt. I was lost, scrambling for an attempt to save myself, to keep myself from falling deeper into a void that I wouldn't be able to get out of. But then, I remembered Marcus' words again. _I _could not fall in love with Rachel, perhaps because feelings and emotions were not natural to me, and what was love if not a ridiculously intense emotion?

But my Primal, the side of me that was literally steeped in illogical, ridiculous emotion, could handle it. That was natural and innate to her. Quinn could fall in love with Rachel.

I'd just have to let her.

_I know you've been silent all day, but if you'd like an opportunity to have a few hours running free, I could use your assistance._

I held onto Rachel's hand a moment longer, took one more opportunity to really analyze and take in the different shades of brown in her eyes, then let the darkness take me away.

"Quinn?" Rachel asked, her words suggesting that perhaps she caught onto a change in me. Like she was checking to see if I was still there, but I wasn't. Quinn had the control now. I only got to watch the movie play.

"I'm right here," Quinn cooed quietly.

"So..." Rachel continued, her words halted, unsure for the first time since she showed up at my apartment. "Did you want to take me out on a date?"

"If you'd be willing to let me," Quinn replied smoothly. She stroked the back of Rachel's hand with her thumb, and I watched Rachel melt a little under her touch. I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all, but this was the way things had to be. I wouldn't be able to melt her like that. I didn't know how.

"Why wouldn't I let you?" Rachel asked curiously. "I thought you knew how I felt about you."

"I do, it's just..." Quinn said, pausing and rummaging through my dictionary. That was an advantage I had over her. Words. Words were my thing. She was much better when she _wasn't _talking. "Surreal. I can't believe that you like me so much, still."

"Well, believe it," Rachel said, and her voice got soft and sultry. She leaned forward, and Quinn licked her lips in preparation. In anticipation. She _expected _this. She had played it perfectly, and had gotten exactly what we wanted. "Please believe it."

Rachel's words got so soft before she kissed Quinn that it was almost like she spoke them _into _us. It was beautiful. I wanted to look away, I tried closing my eyes inside of the darkness, but could not.

It made me feel bad for Quinn, since she was resigned to this position of watching and never really getting to act the majority of the time. But I couldn't feel that badly for her, because she was getting to be closer to Rachel that I ever could. Closer than I was ever allowed to be, for valid reasons, but reasons that still made me feel incredibly unsettled.

It was for the best, but I didn't have to like it.

And I wouldn't like it. Not at all.

"You're an amazing kisser," Rachel sighed when they finally stopped kissing. She stroked Quinn's cheek, then traced her thumb along Quinn's bottom lip. "I could kiss you forever, I think."

"Nobody said you had to stop," Quinn suggested, her voice full of _other_ suggestions that made me want to smack her, if only I could. "Especially not me."

Rachel gripped the front of Quinn's shirt, clenching it in her tiny fists and smothered Quinn's mouth with her own. They were a frenzy of moans, whimpers, hands in hair, lips, teeth, and tongues, and I felt like I was being held upside down and shaken.

Quinn must have sensed my discomfort, or maybe she just needed oxygen, because she pulled back and stared into Rachel's glazed over eyes, offering a small chuckle and allowed Rachel to nuzzle into our slightly larger frame.

"If this continues, we're never going to get out of my doorway," Quinn stated.

"Or off the ground," Rachel continued, sounding like she, too, was a little dizzy.

"Yeah, it's not the most comfortable place," Quinn replied. "But you're comfortable."

What a line. At least she meant it. Part of me felt crazy that Rachel was so easy to accept those kinds of things. She deserved more, and I could give her more, but was apparently incapable, so I had to compete. Or sit in the sidelines, which I hated just as much. But, I rested myself with the slightest of eases knowing that if I had compete and watch her from the sidelines with someone else, it was with Quinn, who was essentially me.

It was a war with myself, and I was still losing.

"We could always go inside," Rachel said, arching an eyebrow suggestively and puckering her lips in a nearly imperceptible, possibly seductive way. She was trying to tempt us. It would be much easier to tempt this version of me.

_Don't even think about it._

"I don't know what the draw of going inside is when I asked you out on a date," Quinn teased playfully.

Rachel's hand met Quinn's thigh, low enough to be chaste, but high enough to pose an element of potential danger. Her message was clear.

"Inside, we can be completely alone. With a bed. I distinctly remember telling you something about exploration, and while I may not be ready to explore just _everything _yet, I'm feeling exceedingly close to you, and could be convinced to drop a few more boundaries."

Quinn chuckled in a low, husky tone and leaned in, placing her hand dangerously high on Rachel's thigh, fingertips searing short circles as they kissed. This time, it was more tongues, and then Rachel was whimpering when Quinn tugged on her bottom lip using teeth, and I just _couldn't _take it.

There was no way this was going to happen.

I tried screaming, as loud as I could, as horrifying a sound as I could muster. Quinn pulled back, and I could sense that it had the effect I hoped for. A figurative bucket of ice water. Quinn breathed gently against Rachel's lips, but did not try to close the distance another time.

"What, what is it? What's wrong?" Rachel asked, stroking Quinn's cheek.

_Don't make her feel bad; you have to say something to make it better._

"I just really want to take you _out, _Rachel," Quinn said. "We'll have plenty of time for exploration. We should do things... the right way."

The venom in those last words were only noticed by me. This wasn't the right way for Quinn, after all. She was acting in the way that made the most sense to her, but I still had the control.

It really was for the best.

Rachel's eyes flickered all over Quinn's face, and a gentle smile passed over her features.

"That's incredibly sweet," Rachel cooed. "You're so thoughtful."

No, she wasn't. Not really. I was the thoughtful one. She thought with her body.

"You're just special, and I want to treat you that way," Quinn said, moving to hold Rachel's hand a little tighter, but not pushing for anything more. I was certainly grateful.

"Well, why don't you let me call my dads and let them know of the change of plans, and then we'll go on our date."

Rachel's eyes gleamed when she said that final word.

My heart clenched, and I felt dizzy all over again.

It was jealousy, and I knew it. She wasn't dating me, even though I wanted her to, so badly. She was dating Quinn. I was supposed to be her best friend, her guardian, and everything her father wanted. Quinn got to have the physical side of Rachel that I wanted, and got the chance to have a romantic component to their relationship.

Rachel got everything.

I couldn't be selfish, because in my mind, Rachel deserved everything and then some.

I could have broken the rules. I could have tried, willing to risk everything, just for a chance to get closer to this magnificent girl that I knew I was losing my mind over. I was losing my faith, my rationale, my heart.

I was becoming less and less interested in orders and rules.

I could have spoken up, stopped it, forced Quinn to switch back.

"I can't wait," Quinn whispered, still an uncomfortably close distance to Rachel's lips.

"Please don't be scared when I tell you what I'm about to tell you," Rachel said. Quinn nodded, allowing her to proceed. I anticipated the switch. "I could see myself falling in love with you."

It was a final, devastating blow.

She could fall in love with _Quinn_. I could have forced the switch, I could have taken the control back, I could have gone on the date Quinn planned with Rachel. I could have had my night of perfection.

But I didn't.

_Reprogramming means losing her forever._

So I stayed silent.

I gave Quinn the control. All of the control.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I'm so _so_ sorry about the wait! Life got crazy with school, then work and my personal life. I've been sort of writing in 500-1000 word increments on this one and my other one every other day or so, and finally, after a few re-edits, I got to a point where I was satisfied with the outcome of this chapter. I will give you this warning: shit's about to get real. So, grab a hat, and hang onto it. Let me know what you think, and thanks again for your patience and devotion to this story. I will do my best not to disappoint.**

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><p>Quinn and Rachel were walking hand-in-hand down the semi-crowded streets of Lima, like they were any other, perfectly normal couple strolling after 6 pm. I watched, feeling my heart hammer and wondering for a moment if it was mine or Quinn's. The lines were starting to fade tremendously, and even my knack for logic couldn't puzzle it out. Quinn was me and I was Quinn and we were all together? I wasn't sure; it was something that would likely have to result in clarification from Marcus, no—from our creator. I couldn't humanize him that much when he had, in essence, stripped me of the one thing that truly mattered: Rachel.<p>

Rachel had started doing this cute little sway with their hands, back and forth, keeping a merciless tempo with their walking pace. Rachel was so magnificent, it was like she had music flowing through her veins, etched into her bones, expelled through her every breath. It was enchanting, but Quinn barely noticed. Her mind, I knew, was focused on the gentle sway of Rachel's hips, the curve of her calves, the long, lean expanse of her legs and all the _skin _that was showing. I could practically taste her desperation, and although I tried to tamp it down, to keep it from bubbling like molten lava to the surface, I had relinquished my control enough that I could be, at best, a mere nuisance.

I had been reduced to Jiminy Cricket, seated upon her shoulder and barking advice that was heeded, perhaps, but commonly ignored.

"Where are we going?" Rachel asked quietly, looking up at Quinn through long lashes.

"I'm content with just walking for a bit. Is that all right?" Quinn asked, using the same, gentle, almost silk-smooth tone. Rachel's eyelashes fluttered a bit, and she must have tightened her grip on Quinn's hand, because she worked her way closer and cuddled into Quinn's side.

"Just until I get hungry, and then you have to feed me," Rachel purred. She kissed the top of Quinn's shoulder, then breathed her in. I felt the pangs of jealousy like lightning against my skin and realized something: the pain from before, when I first met Rachel, in that moment, I would have given anything to feel it again, because it would have meant we were touching. That we were close.

A few other groups and couples passing by stared at them, some in a friendly manner, others with confusion etched onto their faces. Quinn made sure to glare at anyone who started to adopt an unfriendly stare, and thankfully, Rachel seemed to remain oblivious on all accounts. Except where Quinn was concerned. She was totally dialed in to Quinn's every moment. She noted every twitch of Quinn's facial muscles, every hint of a smile, every tremor of her hand, any time they shifted.

I wanted to scream, to bang my fists against the cage, to work my way free, clawing and screaming at the earth to release me from my confines.

But I had to still myself. I had to cut my losses.

This was what fate wanted.

This was what I had been resigned to, lost without a choice.

This was the cross I had to bear, even though religion had never made sense to me. I would be a spectator, a protector, and a guardian.

Quinn would steal her heart.

Part of me pondered the question of alternatives, if I had any opposing plans of action, if there was a possibility that things did not have to end this way. Even though I was not the soldier, not in essence, I felt myself wanting to fight for this. For her.

If I swallowed my pride, which I was discovering was slightly obtrusive and more active than I had expected originally, I could talk to Marcus and try to find more answers. Perhaps there was a way of integration. Perhaps, since Quinn and I were two separate aspects of personality housed within the same physical being, within the confines of the same bodily contraption, we could become one. Then, I could be Rachel's protector and her lover.

_Lover_. The word and thoughts it conjured hit me like a punch, a hard, solid blow to the stomach, then twisted, causing me to feel dizzy. Thankfully, I was not using my legs, or I surely would have fallen.

I knew there would have to be more thought about the subject. What if Quinn gained permanent control after integration? What if I couldn't access her killer instinct as readily in times of dire straights? What if Rachel didn't like us as much when it was one person trying to tread water and fill the void of two?

Could I go it alone?

I was divided for a reason, wasn't I?

I was perfect in the mind of my creator in my current state.

Perhaps I was truly perfect in Rachel's, too.

"Does it bother you when people stare at us?" Rachel asked quietly. "Because even though the looks are certainly new to me – I'm used to being on the arm of a man, it's certainly not negative being with you. I'm comfortable within the gay community. I was practically raised in it, my fathers and all..."

"You're rambling," Quinn pointed out playfully.

I didn't like that they could play that way.

"I'm proud to be on your arm," Rachel said. "That's what I'm saying."

"You're not on my arm, though," Quinn teased further. "Just holding my hand."

"It's old-fashioned, the term. Stems from the..."

Quinn leaned forward and placed a slow, sweet kiss on Rachel's lips, in the middle of the street. I was appalled. I wanted to know the history of that phrase, damn it! And, Rachel's concerns were valid. We were aware of the history of the community, the things that gay people and gay couples still had to go through. It was a modern society, but not an entirely progressive one, and there was still a looming sense of danger toward those with differences, especially in scenarios when said differences were visible to unfriendly eyes. Rachel didn't know that we could melt anyone who looked at her cross-eyed, or possibly do worse forms of bodily harm.

"I don't remember what I was saying," Rachel breathed out against Quinn's lips.

As much as I tried to gain an inch of cognitive recognition, I could not feel her lips on mine. It was Quinn. All Quinn.

"I don't mind that," Quinn retorted, covering Rachel's lips with her own once more. Quinn's hands moved to Rachel's hair, tangling themselves in those silky brown locks, and I shuddered. I remembered how that felt, and could _almost _feel it as though it was me touching her, not the other way around.

Rachel pulled back when Quinn got a little bold and tugged her closer by the back of the neck, deepening the kiss so their tongues got involved in the intricate dance. Rachel moaned, then hissed when Quinn captured a full bottom lip between her teeth. Then, Rachel pulled back, and gazed at Quinn with glazed, blurry eyes. They misted, and her cheeks took on a dewy pink hue, likely from the heat and proximity of their bodies.

"We're making out on a street corner in the middle of a small, somewhat backwards and conservative Midwestern town," Rachel said. "Do you realize the possible repercussions?"

"I realize them," Quinn stated. "I don't care, but it sounds like you do, so..."

"I don't care!" Rachel insisted. "It's just... my fathers have told me stories, not good stories, and I don't want you getting hurt or having to leave again because we were both too hormonal and attracted to one another to keep things PG."

"I don't see why it's any different than what you've done with that boy," Quinn drawled.

I stiffened, tilted my head to the side.

Oh, no. She wasn't...

"Excuse me?"

"That boy. The one you dated. Did you think twice before kissing _him _on a street corner?"

She was.

"Quinn, what I had with Finn wasn't... it's not close to this, what you and I have. I know it's probably hard for you to think about me with someone else, especially when you've witnessed his failed attempts to win me back, but I assure you, there is nothing to worry about."

Quinn didn't have logic, though. I wasn't sure, but part of me suspected that she wasn't capable of this kind of processing. Currently, she was trapped in emotions, swimming in a sea of insecurity and jealousy. I couldn't save her from this.

"You're saying that, and I'm hearing it, but your actions, Rachel," Quinn continued.

Her actions? Really?

Rachel raised an eyebrow, and I felt that she was in the same boat as I, even though we were far apart. Either way, she wasn't happy with my other half. And this 'date' wasn't going well, all of a sudden.

Thanks, Quinn.

"Listen to yourself," Rachel said, trying to keep calm even though it was obvious her resolve was fading. "Do you see me here with Finn? No. Because I'm with _you_. And you left for a year, Quinn, a whole year, and I could have chosen him, then. He wanted me to choose him, but I didn't. Do you want to know why?"

I winced when her tone continued rising at a steady pace. She clenched her fists, then shook them out. She took a deep breath, inhaling to center herself. It was likely a trick she learned from yoga. She told me that yoga was part of her morning ritual, and it helped her stay alert, focused, and helped with her breathing for singing.

"Tell me," Quinn said. Her tone bordered lightly on defiant, dancing with the mere thought that perhaps Rachel was holding back, even though I could see differently. Even from my cage, I could sense her desire to be close. Quinn, for all her abilities with emotion, didn't know the logistics of harboring another person close. She harbored me, her own emotions, and drew the line directly after that perimeter.

"I didn't choose him because I'm falling in love with you!" Rachel said, exasperated. "I might even _be _in love with you. I'm still figuring it out, and I know it seems soon, but I pined for you for a whole year, and now..."

"How did this happen?" Quinn asked, looking down. I sensed that the question was for both of us, for Rachel and for me. I wasn't sure of an answer to give. I knew that this wasn't supposed to happen.

"That's not what I'd hoping you'd say. But, to answer your question, I'm not sure. It just did," Rachel said. "And I'm not taking it back. I don't expect you to come untethered with declarations of undying love for me, but if you could just be honest with your feelings, so I can know what page you're on."

"I care about you a great deal," Quinn replied instantly. She was letting go. She was bringing her emotions to surface, letting everything hang on the line. She could feel so much, but I knew that since her emotions could react dangerously, and act as a driving force on their own, she tried to keep them controlled. Like me with my logic, with my reason, I locked myself in my head. Quinn locked her heart away. And this doe-eyed beauty in front of us held the keys to both.

Rachel breathed heavily, holding her hand to her chest for a moment, and her eyes fluttered. Quinn took a step closer, then guided them to a more secluded area, next to a tree. Rachel leaned back against the strong trunk, allowing herself to be blocked by Quinn's body in front of her.

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, nor would I allow anything to hurt you," Quinn continued. "There's a strong, driving urge that controls me, and it's connected to you. Wherever you are, that's where I have to be. You are the first thing and last thing on my mind every day. I'm impulsive, Rachel. I'm ruled by my heart, and maybe that's why I've been so hesitant to love you, but you're making me rethink that hesitation."

It was the truth.

Quinn told the truth.

Ideally, someday we would become whole, and I could hopefully love Rachel with my head and Quinn's heart. Maybe that would make us even more of a suitable match for her. Perhaps that would make us an appropriate suitor to our creator, to her father. Now we just had to figure out _how _to make it possible.

"Quinn, kiss me," Rachel commanded quietly.

I felt a thud in my chest.

I felt the jealousy surge.

I waited for Quinn to connect their lips. I waited for that touch I couldn't feel. I waited to become a voyeur again, to watch and take in everything I wanted, directly in front of me and yet just out of reach.

She paused. She didn't follow through. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach, in _our _stomach, perhaps, like a stone falling down an endless well. I felt Quinn's hands clench like they were my own. I saw my vision blurring, and heard Rachel's voice.

"Quinn?"

She was tentative, like she wasn't certain of Quinn's reaction. Then again, neither was I, and we occupied the same space.

Her voice was dark when she spoke again.

"Rachel, move," Quinn said.

"Move, what – what are you even talking about?" Rachel asked, looking at the tree, then at Quinn, and crossing her arms in a final, solid stance.

"Just _move,_" Quinn emphasized, then placed her hands on Rachel's shoulder, to gently ease her out of the way, closer to the tree, then moved around it. I saw what she was doing, realized that she was keeping Rachel off to the side. The large tree trunk was clearly meant to shield her, but from what?

I heard her command in my head next.

_You'll want to stay out of this, 22._

Stay out of what, exactly?

I watched Quinn sniff the air, like an animal. Like a hunter. She looked, her eyes flicking randomly in the darkness, or in a patterned that seemed random, but I suspected was extremely calculated. She was searching, surveying the darkness and looking for something specific. Something that made her hair stand on end.

Her hands twitched again, and she moved forward, through the open park area, toward a bench in the center. She glanced over her shoulder, noting that Rachel was still behind the tree, out of sight. My vision cleared, and then I saw them.

Two people, both dressed in dark suits that were skintight, breathable looking fabric that was studded with flecks of what could have easily been a lightweight silver armor. Both had goggles, slim-fitted to look like glasses, and probably aided in their night vision. One man, tall and sturdy, with excessively broad shoulders and bulging arms, and a woman, who was also tall, but lean and built a lot like us.

"You came for me," Quinn said simply.

"You don't seem surprised," the woman spoke.

"I'm not," Quinn replied. "I've sensed you following me for quite a while."

"An upgrade," the man spoke again. "How nice. Where's the human?"

My heart sank again, sending another rock tumbling down the well.

Rachel.

"Gone," Quinn lied easily. I watched them, their body language was unreadable. They were taut, like bowstrings, like the physical, humanoid embodiment of a weapon, which was, I assumed, exactly what they were.

These were Supersoldiers. And they had come for us.

"We've been tracking you for a reason," the man spoke. "The Commander said that it's time to bring you home, 22-B."

Quinn looked down, away, and then a defiant sneer crossed her face.

"That's _not _my name," she replied, her voice a low, rumbling growl.

"You're to come with us," the woman replied, a little more sternly.

Quinn's eyes snapped up, locking onto her targets with such a force, with such tenacity and strength that it should have shaken them both to their core if they weren't acting without the smallest hint of humanity. They didn't feel fear. They didn't feel at all. They were empty, but we were not.

That would either give a huge advantage or send us spiraling toward a fate possibly worse than death.

"You won't be taking me anywhere alive, and I think you know that," Quinn taunted. "It's why they sent two of you, because they knew one would be no match."

"You think you're stronger," the woman said.

"No," Quinn replied. "I _know _I'm stronger. They should have sent the fucking army."

"This is your last warning, 22-B," the man said, his voice booming in the large space. "We have been given orders to force your submission by any means necessary."

"Then if I'm leaving, it'll be in pieces," Quinn spat. "Sounds like a party."

"Why are you so determined to stay among humans? You're meant for greater things, for a greater cause?" the woman asked. "I don't understand why you would want to lead a lesser life."

"You don't have the proper programming to understand, Soldier. I made a promise to a girl, and I'm keeping it," Quinn said, the side of her lip trembling with the smallest of smiles. "I see that you've got weapons. Bring them out and let's get this over with, shall we?"

The woman drew first, unsheathing a large gun with two slim barrels that stretched out for better accuracy, like a cross between a sniper rifle and a machine gun. Quinn felt her body heat up, and she stayed perfectly still. Seconds later, the woman's finger twitched and blue lines of white-hot laser heat fired steadily in the air with a hum of electric power and a whooshing noise. Quinn ducked down, rolling in the soft grass, and ran further in the other direction. She heard the noise again, and jumped, rolling sideways again, and doubled back toward her would-be captors.

The man ran toward her, drawing an electric sword that was crescent shaped and appeared to be made of some sort of acidic plasma as well as glistening steel. These weapons had been forged for extreme lethality, and Quinn felt her body respond in kind, developing and working through control of her powers as she advanced. She was unarmed, and they came with plenty of firepower, but she didn't need it. Her body was a weapon. Head to toe, she was lethal. She was different.

We were special.

The man yelled, a battle cry escaping and cutting through the silence as he charged her, sword held high.

Quinn looked at her hands and saw that the skin was red, almost like we had been horribly burned without the blisters and wounds. It was a bright, painful red, and a sickening smile crossed her lips. The man swung down, and Quinn caught the blade, cackling with satisfaction when the plasma bubbled and the steel cracked. The weapon dissolved in seconds, and she shook the excess material from her hands before advancing on the man.

She leaped with the grace and agility of a predatory jungle cat and secured her body atop his, latching one hand to the side of his face, and the other to his throat. He screamed loudly in agony, and white towers of steam surfaced from around them as blood and sinew turned to rivers underneath Quinn's lethal hands.

She stood, kicking his body aside, turning it on its stomach, then smiled at the woman, who had lowered her weapon slightly.

"Next," Quinn growled.

The woman raised her gun again, but Quinn raised her hand and flicked her wrist, causing the gun to fly out of the woman's hands and through the air, to where it landed a reachable two or three feet from where Quinn was standing.

Quinn grabbed the gun and slid the strap over her shoulder. The woman scrambled frantically, looking for a second weapon, and obtained a small pistol. She managed to fire a single shot, a blazing, white bullet that lit up the dark area like a firework, but missed when Quinn caught it in her eyesight and sent it horribly off-target. Quinn's hands made a few adjustments to the weapon, as if she knew exactly how to operate it, then fired a round into the woman's chest, creating a gaping hole directly in the center of her body cavity.

She hissed, then made a sound like a machine powering down, and sunk to her knees before falling over, dead.

Rachel ran out from behind the tree, surveyed the area, then covered her mouth with her hand. Quinn shifted the weapon over her shoulder, and looked at her hands, making sure they were a normal color before approaching Rachel.

"What? What is going on? You... killed them. Those people. What _are _they?"

"What were they, you mean?" Quinn asked.

"Now is not the time for correction! I demand to know what's going on! You're... I don't even know _what _you are," Rachel said. "Other than a killer."

"They weren't good guys," Quinn tried, then tried to reach out to Rachel, but found her advances to be shrugged off in a surprisingly cold manner. "We need to get out of here. They'll send reinforcements and others to collect the bodies."

"You go alone," Rachel said. "This violence, I want nothing to do with it."

Quinn grabbed Rachel's arm, and tightened her grip when Rachel struggled for a moment.

"We're going back to my apartment," Quinn said simply. "You're not going to struggle, and you're not going to leave, because I can't risk getting you hurt, or worse. Okay? You can hate me, or not talk to me, or whatever you want to do in your state of shock, but you're not going to be alone."

"I want to know what's going on," Rachel said. "All of it. No more secrets."

"I can do that, but you have to stay with me, okay? I can't let you leave until the threat is gone," Quinn said.

"When will the threat be gone?" Rachel asked, although I sensed it was more out of curiosity than a desire to leave.

"I can't say. I don't know," Quinn replied.

Rachel nodded.

"Why would I be in danger?"

Quinn reached for Rachel's hand again, and this time found that the brunette responded by reluctantly allowing her advance, and settling into it a moment or two later. It wasn't the same, but it was a start. Rachel was still in shock, after all.

So was I.

I didn't have answers, either. This was something Quinn would have to take point on. I had suspicions, theories, plans, but nothing else.

Quinn was the warrior. She was the one who needed to stay for the big fight. And if there was to be a war, of any kind, I knew that she would be the only one who could protect Rachel in the best of ways. Rachel was safe with her, and needed to stay with her, not me. Even if it did hurt me to admit that, especially to myself.

"Because," Quinn started. "I don't have weaknesses, except you. They'd use you to get to me, and there's nothing I could do to prevent it. I'd die saving you."

Rachel's eyes got misty for a moment, then she shook off the emotion and squeezed Quinn's hand a little tighter.

"I won't let that happen, then," Rachel said. "But you still have a lot of explaining to do."

Quinn nodded, helping Rachel quickly into our vehicle when they reached it. She jumped in the driver's seat, and probably broke every rule that existed in getting back to our apartment, but it wasn't like any human cops would be able to do anything, should they have decided to get in our way.

Rachel watched Quinn as she drove and her hand made its way across the cup holders in the middle to Quinn's thigh, where she rested there.

"I know you'd think I'd be afraid, because what I saw... what happened was... I don't know, like something out of a high-budget Blockbuster. But I'm not afraid, Quinn. Not of them, and especially not of you."

"Maybe you should be afraid of me," Quinn said.

"So you're dangerous. I'm not afraid. You're like my own personal hero."

Quinn cracked a smile. I felt her chest surge.

I think she rather liked the sound of that, since those words chased every last piece of anger, every trace of the soldier in us into submission in the background. For once, the silence was kind, welcomed, and although I didn't know what it meant to be human, or what it felt like, this was close. This was close to perfection.

This was worth fighting for, even if the war was unknown, if the battle lines were yet to be drawn.

This was worth risking everything.

This, we both knew, was worth dying for.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I'm so, so sorry for the delay! College is starting for me, and I'm carrying a full course load this term, so I'm a little swamped with the beginnings of everything. But, I promise, once I get into the swing of things, regular updates on this will come back and I won't keep you hanging as much. Seriously, you all have my sincere apologies. But I do hope this chapter makes up for it. It's... interesting. And maybe a little sexy. And... interesting. I'll leave it at that. Let me know what you think! **

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><p>We had been here before. It wasn't a new place, wasn't unfamiliar, and yet, I could sense Quinn's discomfort as she and Rachel sat on the couch in our living room. I knew it was mostly because we were connected, but part of it was also because we were about to engage in a conversation that neither wanted to have. At least, not really. It was right, on a moral level, on a level where honesty and being forthright were concerned, but we both shared the worry that when Rachel knew everything, when she saw our cards, she wouldn't want to stick around.<p>

Part of me didn't want to think about losing Rachel, because we were literally created with her in mind: crafted for the purpose of being her companion, and if she didn't want us anymore, if she made the decision to split up our partnership, what would we have? I thought back to the soldiers in the park, the others of my same race, and how they seemed to be hollow; they couldn't feel. They acted on a needless purpose, with no greater meaning or task at hand. They didn't have something to keep them going other than voices giving them orders, and once, I had been content with that life. I hadn't known anything better, really. I heard the voice in my head, followed orders, and it seemed to work well enough. I didn't have a comparison sample, and now... now I could literally feel my body growing, changing, and expanding with this influx of emotions that I probably wasn't supposed to have. Quinn felt emotion. Quinn handled emotion, and now, even she was growing, which meant the lines were blurring between us.

Two separate halves could only stay separate when forced to co-mingle on a semi-regular basis for so long. I knew that. That was a logical conclusion, and logic was still my strong suit. However, with these blurred lines, I began to question. I questioned my purpose. I questioned my feelings. I questioned my Creator, especially, and wondered what _his _bigger reason was. He created us, but his words from before struck true, ringing bells in my head and making me wonder just how long we could go about being different and integrating before "reprogramming" would be our fate.

Rachel's brown eyes, expressive and tender as always, looked at Quinn in a way that filtered right through her and into me. Which gave more validity to the argument that Quinn and I were, in fact, integrating.

"You're really quiet," Rachel commented. "Aren't you supposed to be talking? Wasn't that the entire purpose of coming here?"

Quinn exhaled in a way that caused her shoulders to slump forward. She looked on, I guessed in a way that came off as helpless, since that was what I was reading off of her in waves.

_22, help. Please?_

I didn't know that I could help. Was I truly capable of helping? My answers would likely be more blunt, more reasonable, more devoid of emotion that Rachel probably needed to glue factoids together when they'd be strung out in a way that would seem impossible to her human schema. Quinn was the proper candidate to explain this: she knew as much as I did.

I felt her continue to struggle, and I felt myself draw more toward the surface, even against my will. Normally, if I wanted to stay resigned to my submissive, second-in-command position, it was quite easy to achieve. I was the primary host, after all, and when I let Quinn drive, she was always more than happy to keep control of the wheel. She liked sitting in the driver's seat. Except at the very moment when I needed her to maintain control. But isn't that just like emotion? Wonderful when it's useful, and a pain to deal with when it's not needed.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. I've just got so much on my mind," Quinn said honestly. Her voice quivered. She looked down at her hands, then clenched them into fists. I wanted to look at Rachel. I wanted _her _to look at Rachel.

"Which is why you're supposed to be unburdening yourself. Tell me. Talk to me about it, Quinn," Rachel said simply, as if her suggestion was easy to achieve. As if this unburdening process would be completely painless and have no repercussions whatsoever. We knew better. We _both _knew better.

Quinn sighed again and forced her eyes up to meet Rachel's. Rachel looked so hopeful, so gentle, and it was becoming hard to gain any type of lingering resolve. We had made our bed, as the saying went, so now we had to sleep in it.

_I can't do this. I don't know how to do this. _

Quinn sounded panicked in my head, and I could see the threads around my current universe, from within my airtight little waiting room start to fade as her reality became my reality, and she fought to switch places.

What made her think I could do it, anyway? Why was I supposed to be the one to potentially break Rachel's heart?

"Quinn," Rachel prompted. She sighed, then crossed her arms and shifted on the couch. "You know, I expected you to be more open with me than this. I thought we trusted each other, and what happened back... back there... I need answers. And if you can't give them to me, then maybe I should just go."

The words struck so hard that I found myself unseated in an instant, flying toward the surface and reacting instantly.

"No!" I exclaimed, startling both myself and Rachel. "Don't go." I said the second part a bit quieter. I didn't want her to leave. I hadn't expected to be in control so quickly. Sneaky Quinn.

"Then we need to talk."

How does one start this kind of conversation? I knew that the truth, obviously, was the path I had to take. I couldn't really take any other way, after all. So, I decided to start at the beginning.

"I've always told you that I was different, Rachel," I began. I watched her face carefully, hoping to be able to decipher the slight ticks and movements that would determine her feelings as I spoke. Right now, her face was blank, intent, and completely focused on me. Her lips pursed for a second, and then her eyes snapped onto mine.

"Right, but I thought you meant different as in eccentric and kind of a loner, or that you really like foreign films or something. Those things in the park, what you did was... that was unreal."

"No, it was very real," I insisted.

"That's a figure of speech."

I fidgeted with my hands, not knowing what I was doing, and kept doing this until Rachel glared at me, a small smile playing on her lips.

"What?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you the questions?" Rachel asked playfully. I guessed that it was because she was trying to calm me down, make me comfortable, something. Maybe she was just getting tired of the silence. I didn't know how one could tire of silence: most of my thinking got done in the quietest moments, because it was hard enough to deal with two voices in my head. I rarely got true quiet. I almost never experienced silence.

"I suppose. You can ask questions, if you'd like," I replied. Perhaps a question and answer format would be a better way to approach such a towering mountain. Perhaps it would give Rachel what she needed and still salvage some of my resolve and tamp down some of the surging emotions that were starting to grow stronger and out of my grasp of control.

"You're nervous."

"Very. I apologize."

Rachel grinned, ear to ear, and it was the first time since we walked into my apartment that things felt normal. Or, I supposed as normal as a situation such as ours could have been, given the circumstances and given what we were about to discuss.

"It's adorable," Rachel said almost immediately, causing another wave of emotion, this time positive, to careen through my system. "Now start talking, Fabray."

"Where does one even begin?"

That question had been haunting me, acting as a barricade for too long, and I had to throw it out to the universe, out in the open, for a possible answer to surface and make its presence known.

"At the beginning. One always starts at the beginning. There are songs about it," Rachel said plainly. Her face still had an inquisitive, yet gentle expression, which gave me confidence and hope and strength. All of which I needed more than I felt I could truly comprehend.

"Really, there are songs?"

"You're getting off topic," Rachel prompted. "I mean, how bad can it be? I mean, it seems pretty crazy, but I'd much rather hear your version of the events."

I took a deep breath of fresh, sweet oxygen and savored it. I exhaled, then spoke.

Words, don't fail me now.

Jump in with both feet.

Stay strong, and don't forget to breathe.

This is Rachel. You know Rachel. You _love _Rachel.

Rachel will understand.

"I'm very new to all of this as well. I mean, not as new as you will be once I tell you everything, but new. I just hope it doesn't... change things. The likelihood of it changing things is quite probable, and I don't know if you realize this. I don't want to lose you."

"What makes you think you'll lose me, Quinn?" Rachel asked, and her hand touched mine. I felt a warmth, but not a burning. I felt the heat, but didn't register pain. It was comforting. It was liberating. It was the final push I needed to scale the mountain.

"I'm not human, Rachel," I said simply. "I'm... well, I was created. Not like you were created, with two humans combining to create another human. I'm not sure the logistics of how, exactly I was created. I could attempt to find out, if you wish. But I was created by scientific means."

"Are you a clone or something? I need to watch more science fiction films, don't I?"

"No, no. This is difficult for anyone to comprehend, even myself at times. I was created by a branch of the US Government for use as a military weapon. My kind are called Supersoldiers, and the two others that came after me in the park were of the same species. They just were created with a different task in mind, a different reason for functioning."

I stopped, then looked at her face. It was neutral, but not headed toward shock or worse, horror. She was listening, absorbing. I hadn't scared her off yet.

"Go on," Rachel prompted.

"I'm not certain how many of... us... there are, exactly. Possibly hundreds, although I doubt there are that many. Before I knew what I was, I'd have these dreams. Horribly vivid, sometimes terrifying dreams that I learned were likely memories from the earliest parts of my existence. I was in a tube, being tested and developed, and I... hurt people."

"You're a weapon," Rachel stated. "That seems to fit, then."

"I went searching for answers, and that's why I had to leave you. There was a voice, commanding me in my head, telling me to do things. It fabricated a new life for me, so I could exist among humans comfortably, or, at least without too much difficulty. It's not easy, though. It hasn't been easy. I found my answers, and I met my creator. He told me about the Supersoldiers, explained that their purpose was to act as a type of rapid response team in case the military gets into dire situations. We're programmed with special abilities to be able to act upon whatever tasks are necessary, and can... eliminate targets with great ease. We're not humanoid. We're not supposed to be. We act, we follow orders, and we destroy."

"But you feel. I _know_ you feel," Rachel said.

"I do feel. I feel very much," I assured her. I gave her hand a squeeze. "But Rachel, I was made differently than the others. I was never meant to be a weapon. At least, not for the military. My creator, he made me with another plan in mind."

"What did he make you for, Quinn?"

I stopped. This was the part I _really _didn't want to explain.

This was the part that would potentially ruin everything, and then what would I do?

"Rachel, it's..."

"No," Rachel said firmly. "Tell me."

"I was made for you," I replied. "I was brought to you, created for you, created to..."

Rachel's lips were on mine so fast, I could barely breathe. I couldn't think. I had never felt such passion, such wanton need, such craving. Her hands encircled my waist, and her body fell on top of mine as soon as she pushed me back to a prone position on the couch.

"Rachel, I..."

Rachel gasped against my lips, nipped my bottom lip, then smiled down at me. Her hair framed her face, and just a glimmer of light shined behind her, illuminating her like an angel that I thought she was since the moment I first saw her.

"Do you have powers?" Rachel asked, slightly out of breath.

"Thermal radiation, strength beyond the normal capacity that humans can possess, even at their strongest, telekinesis, possibly more. I don't know if I have fully developed at this juncture."

Rachel moaned, and her body shifted against me.

"So, you _are _my superhero," she breathed again, voice low and husky and making me feel things and want things that I didn't know how to handle. Quinn was rattling her cage, Quinn was hungry, but I decided to be selfish. If I got to be this close to Rachel for once, even if I didn't know what I was doing, even if I didn't know that I _wanted _things to progress as far as they were possibly going to progress, I wanted to keep it all to myself. That much, I was certain about.

"In a way, I suppose you could take my creation to mean..."

"No more talking," Rachel demanded.

Rachel's hands balanced on either side of my head and her hips rocked against mine. Her legs moved to straddle my hips, and she settled down perfectly. Never in my endless amounts of study had I known something to fit as well as she did in that very moment. My hands moved to grasp her hips and I felt the greed in me grow, so I pulled her closer. I held her tighter, because if she was going to let go, I wanted to get my fill before she was just a ghost in my memory and a dream in my head.

"Rachel, I..."

I didn't know what words I was trying to say. I only knew the ones I wanted to say, the ones I wanted to let leave my lips and fall into her. The ones that were forbidden, because they felt natural and so right. They felt so right that my head was spinning.

"Quinn, just stay in this moment. I don't care what you are, or what you were, or what you've been. I just want _you_."

"You don't think I'm a monster?"

"It's hard to grasp what you've told me. I'll need time to process, I'm sure. But not now. Not right now."

Her last words were whispered against mine, and I felt the last, fleeting thread of my sanity and my resolve, the last strand of my logic, fall out the window. I heard Quinn banging her cage until it resounded through my skull, through my blood, in a wailing roar that sounded like the final strains of a symphony. I heard her yelling, heard her words, but they were faded, a jumbled mess that sounded utterly incomprehensible, and I didn't care to decipher. I didn't care to listen.

Rachel kept kissing me, and then her hands slid under my shirt, feeling my skin, touching me as if I was something other than a creation. I felt like Rachel was testing my humanity, touching the places of me that felt human on the outside. She was searing my skin with her fingers, with her lips, with her body, and it felt like dying and going to the place humans refer to as heaven. I never understood the human obsession with perfect bliss, with a place of total peace, but in that moment, it made perfect sense. It felt right, and I never wanted to leave that moment.

Quinn's screams, Quinn's protests, Quinn's hunger faded to the background, and I felt myself narrowing forth with tunneled sight until my entire world was Rachel. I felt whole for the first time. I felt complete.

I grew bolder, testing my luck by sliding my hands underneath Rachel's shirt and feeling the gentle thrum of her heartbeat underneath what seemed to be acres of soft, perfect, unblemished skin. She whimpered against my lips, expelling her desires by the tiniest, almost inaudible mewl that sent a new rush through my skin. I could feel it across my pores. I could feel it in my bones. I could feel like like a hammer to my heart as it kept beating in stronger and stronger patterns that I felt were encompassing the sounds of my living room, leading the silence back to its corner to return at another, less charged moment.

My lips moved to her neck, seeking out more heat, more of her humanity. I needed to take all she was and keep it within me. I wanted to make her a part of me, since I was created to be part of her. The need to claim, I knew, was human, but the part of me that craved normalcy and humanity was craving Rachel in such a manner that I wasn't sure if Quinn and I were really so very different. Who was I to deny such a craving, when she was so close? Everything I ever wanted was inches, mere inches, from me, and I was free to explore, unburdened, to seek her truths and hold her captive.

Rachel bucked down against me, all need and strength behind the motion as she settled, then shifted and re-settled on my lap. Her hips were canting, moving back and forth in a musically soundless sway that was hypnotizing and relentlessly, dizzying my senses and cutting me deep, beneath the monster, beneath the creation, beneath the cave where I hid when Quinn had to take control.

She pulled back from our kiss, and we both gasped for precious oxygen. We had been kissing for a long time, too long, and her eyes were smoldering orbs when I caught her gaze. They surged, dark brown, nearly black, and I nibbled a gentle, affectionate path along her jawline. She threaded her fingers through my hair and looked deeper into my eyes. I could feel the burning. I could feel the heat coursing between us, almost a third presence that we could both feel. Any more heat, and we'd be entertaining someone else entirely, of that I was sure.

Her eyes flickered, and I caught a glimpse of color. I knew Rachel's eyes. I knew them well. They were warm, chocolate. They were endless, deep rivers of sepia and bronze and magnificent in their ability to be so many shades of the same color. But this time, it was different.

For a moment, just a moment, they flickered blue. Ice blue. Cold blue.

Rachel's hands traveled down my chest, toward the waistband of my pants. Toward my belt. Her fingers teased the hem of my shirt, and she moved forward to press us closer together.

I was frozen.

"Rachel..." I started, my voice a low growl.

_Quinn, where are you?_

Quinn was silent. Dead silent.

I never wanted that kind of silence. It shook me to my core, and I felt the pangs of being truly alone, even if only for a moment.

Rachel looked at me again, and I fell back into the darkened color I was used to, but still saw a sliver of blue around the outside.

"Quinn, no talking. I _want _you."

Her voice was commanding, powerful. I could feel heat surging over every inch of my skin, and it felt raw, like my nerves were exposed and left to the mercy of the elements.

"Rachel..."

Rachel's fingers traced the nape of my neck, delicately stroking me as her hips settled down on mine again. She looked at me, obviously a little concerned at how my responses had changed.

"Quinn, what is it? What's wrong?"

I looked into her eyes again, and the blue color pulsed, almost like her heartbeat. A small surge, but enough to let me know that it was still present. It still existed where it did not previously, and should not exist.

"What _are _you?"


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I'm so, so SO extremely sorry for the incredibly long hiatus. Sometimes, life interferes. I could go into detail about all the crazy that has happened to me in the past few months leading into the new year, but I think you all would probably just read the next chapter of the story, wouldn't you? Be assured at the very least: it's a good kind of crazy. It's just the kind of crazy that keeps me away from my writing station. But no more! There will be more frequent updates on this one and "Twelve Months" (for those of you who read both of my on-goings). That being said, this was put together more quickly than I usually like to do, so please overlook any ridiculous typos. I wanted to get it finished as soon as I could so as not to keep you waiting any longer. Thank you for your patience, please enjoy and drop me a line. We're still on this crazy train, folks.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 18:<strong>

Rachel's eyes followed me, taking in my stiff appearance as I retracted from our intimate embrace. It was too much, and I had pushed my boundaries, her boundaries, all the boundaries, all the lines that had been carefully drawn in the sand, carefully crafted to keep things like this from happening. I had overlooked them, overestimated my capabilities, and now everything was slipping through my fingers, possibly to a level that I couldn't save. I looked to Rachel and noticed that her eyes were the same warm brown that I had gotten used to, that I had grown to love, that made her human. They were normal, and she was normal again. I searched for Quinn, and found no response. I tried harder, looking past the barriers of my own existence, and found that there was no level for me to search, no "other" part to traverse; there was only me. I was all that existed in the universe.

"Quinn," Rachel said simply. It wasn't a command, a coo, or a lover's whisper. Her utterance of my name was simple, complete as it was, a single word that granted her every ounce of my attention. My search was over; there was nothing else for me to find.

"Rachel, I'm sorry, I..."

"Please don't apologize," Rachel stressed. Her words were even and calm, as if nothing heavy had transpired between us, as if there was no passion to be had or shared, as if we hadn't crossed any boundaries at all. I knew differently, of course, but part of me wanted to live in Rachel's world. I wanted to live in that even, calm place where nothing was wrong. I wanted to live in a world where I was just Quinn and she was just Rachel, and we accepted each other for that. I wasn't a Supersoldier and she wasn't something else entirely. I wasn't made to protect her, we could just exist and be free to love. It was a gorgeous concept, but it was completely out of my reach, and I knew that. At least, it was out of reach in that moment, but a small flicker of hope within me told me to hold fast and keep hoping, because sometimes, even the furthest wishes could be obtain if one was willing to work for it.

"I feel as though I need to," I continued when Rachel fell silent once more. I cleared my throat, steeled forward, and embraced bravery enough to place my hand on her knee. "I startled you. We were... there was intimacy, even on a small level, and I startled you."

"You asked me a question," Rachel whispered. She didn't pull away from my touch, but she didn't return it, either. Normally, Rachel would always return the affection. She embraced it, and it seemed that more often than not, she was most content holding my hand or placing her hand on my chest, cuddling into my side, or something along those lines. "Don't you want the answer?"

"I'm almost afraid to know," I confessed. I knew that there was no reason to fear, really – I was more than capable of taking care of myself. My creator had seen to that. Rachel was so innocent; she never had given me any reason to think that she had the capability to be more than a simple, wonderful human. Part of me thought that even if I hadn't been programmed to love her, I would have latched onto her humanity and held fast, for that was a beautiful, intrinsic part of her that captivated me. The fact that she may not possess as much true humanity as I had initially thought intimidated me: who was she? I had fallen in love with a specific idea of Rachel, even despite my programming, and I knew that I wasn't strong enough to break our bond, the chemical bond that was unable to be denied or controlled.

Even if I wanted to.

"Because you love me?"

I knew my initial, "gut" response wouldn't be one that she wanted to hear, but I pressed onward anyway. I thought about her feeling for a brief, fleeting moment and continued on anyway, blazing the trail that could easily burn behind me, leaving ashes in its wake. I didn't have Quinn rattling cages in my head anymore, I didn't have her nerve and fire, nor her need to be headstrong and forceful, but I felt the strength she once possessed gathering in my blood like a memory. I realized then that Quinn was gone, and I had peace. I had to live for both of us, now, because she and I were one. We were together, and my freedom, while it had come at a strange moment, and I wasn't sure why it happened, it gave me a new mode of operations; I was working under a new system. My choices, good or bad, were now solely on my own shoulders.

"Because I have to love you," I answered. I watched Rachel's eyes fall downward, as though she had expected that answered and still clung to the hope that I wouldn't say it. She bit down on her bottom lip gently, then tugged with her two front teeth. The glimpse of ivory over flush red drew my vision for a moment, but only for a moment before her voice broke the silence yet again.

"Maybe you should stop that," Rachel replied. She laughed for a moment, and it was hollow. Then she steeled her reserve and stopped. I knew that my eyes betrayed no emotion; that was an ability I had been created with: a chance to be hollow. I knew that she would find no comfort in me within the confines of that moment, and perhaps the tug in my stomach that I experienced was guilt, but still I held onto that emptiness until she continued. "You can't stop, can you?"

"I haven't tried."

It was another honest answer that caused her to fidget uncomfortably in her seat. I didn't know whether or not the movement was caused by excitement or fear: excitement that maybe she'd get to keep me no matter what she said or what her back story was, and fear that maybe I could start trying not to love her and possibly succeed.

"It's blurry, you know, for me. I don't have concrete answers like you do, Quinn," Rachel said quietly. "I want to think the best of my fathers, really I do, but I think that I've been lied to a lot. Probably for my safety, but who knows?"

"I don't know," I said, hoping to lighten the mood, even a little.

"If you did know, I'd be worried," Rachel said. "My family has always been big on secrets."

_Secrets._ That one I did understand, and quite well. After all, I was still keeping secrets from Rachel, even when she had asked for complete candor. I mentioned my creator, but did not disclose his identity. Rachel's father kept even more secrets than she knew, and now I was helping him harbor them, adding to the collection of hidden facts and puzzle pieces that caused her to have blurred factions of her life. I felt another twinge, sharper than the last, and tried to shift to avoid the discomfort. I found no relief.

"At least you have a family," I said, trying to give her more hope. Even though her family was secretive, and even though her father had gone behind her back in more ways than one, I couldn't question his motivation too harshly. After all, I was lying to Rachel, too, for the same reasons. Her safety was more important to me than disclosing intimate details that could put her in harm's way, or push her away from me entirely, which could be much, more worse. Even though I wasn't entirely pleased with my background, Marcus had created me for a reason, and I had to trust in him. Even if it was only a little bit.

"My family loves me. More than they should, sometimes. At least, that's what I think."

"What do you mean?"

Rachel's eyes dropped again, and I knew that she was hiding from something. Was this answer the answer to my previous question? Was she going to dodge me again? Was she too scared of what my reaction might be? I couldn't blame her if she felt that way, because I wasn't even sure of what my reaction might be. I wasn't as in touch with my new emotions as I was when Quinn held the reins, so I wasn't certain that I could bring about the control that I could before when I fought to regain control of my entire self. Now that all of it was coursing through me, it was a power struggle that kept me divided. I was at war with myself. But ultimately, I could feel some security in that my entire purpose, my reason for being was to be with Rachel. I wouldn't hurt her. I couldn't.

"You saw my eyes change, didn't you?"

"I don't know what it means, but yes."

Rachel cleared her throat and I watched her fidget again.

"It doesn't happen often, generally when I have a severe flux of mood, which definitely happened this time around when we were, well, you know."

"I thought it was too much for you. Maybe it was too much for me. It's not like I'm experienced with any sort of person-to-person contact outside of what we've done," I replied.

"Quinn, believe me when I say that nothing would happen between us if I didn't want it to. I want you, it's just..."

She paused, and I felt a burning sensation, like a spark inside me. I pressed onward. I needed to know.

"What is it, Rachel?"

"I'm different, too. That's why it was so easy for me to understand what you are. And even if I don't understand it completely, and I don't, I can at least accept it. Because I'm not normal, either. People have always picked on me for being a freak and a weirdo because I like to sing and act, and I'm outspoken and possibly very annoying, but every time the school bullies would chime in with their cliched remarks, I'd always think 'you have no idea.' Because they don't," Rachel explained.

"Then explain it to me," I said. "Make me understand, because what I saw... it was almost familiar, like you're the same as I am."

"I'm not," Rachel said quickly. I felt a flush again, almost like what I imagined embarrassment to feel like, but pushed it aside. "Wait. Let me rephrase so I'm not completely offensive. I'm not like you, but there's nothing wrong with you being the way that you are. You can't help how you are any more than I can help or change the way I am."

"What happened to you?" I asked. "You are human, aren't you?"

It seemed to be a straightforward enough question, and part of me felt ridiculous for even asking in the first place. I sensed Rachel, and I knew her on levels that most people would never even get close to understanding. Now I was moments away from seeing the parts of her that were even deeper than surface level, emotional level, and mental level: I was going to be privy to the skeletons in her closet, even if they weren't the same as mine, treacherous and hindering the most basic aspects of my life. Rachel wasn't normal, either, which unnerved me and excited me simultaneously. I knew that perhaps I should have felt badly about being so excited as to the new development, but another part knew that if I was to love this girl, which I did, perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. At least I wouldn't be alone. That was why Marcus made me for her, after all, so Rachel wouldn't be alone. But her being the way she was made it easier for her to understand me.

I didn't have to be alone, either.

I watched her pull herself together, as if she was a puppet that had fallen loose on slack strings. She sat straighter against the back of the couch and neatly folded her hands in her lap. She looked at me with warmth in brown eyes, not blue, and I noticed that there wasn't even a trace of what I saw before: there wasn't even the slightest hint of evidence that there was anything more to Rachel Berry than the eye, even the sharpest of eyes could see.

"I was born human, yes. My fathers used a surrogate woman to carry me, and as far as they knew in the beginning, I was a completely healthy baby," Rachel began. I sat at full attention, hanging on her every word, wanting to absorb every seemingly miniscule detail just in case it was vital to understanding her. The chance that it was seemed to be quite likely. "From what I've been told, and keep in mind that my fathers definitely left out a lot. I've done some speculating to fill in holes, but nothing compares to the truth, as I'm sure you understand. Anyway, my fathers said that when I was five years old, I got very sick. They spent thousands of dollars on doctors who all gave them the same answer: 'We don't know what's wrong with Rachel, but she won't survive much longer.' Well, I'm sure it was much more scientific than that, but that's the nutshell answer."

"Whatever you had was going to kill you, then," I asked.

"Basically, that's what the doctors said. My fathers would have been less inclined to believe them, I'm sure, if it wasn't the overall assessment of at least ten doctors, some of whom were the best in their field. As they explained, my daddy Marcus went out on his own to find a cure for me. He's a scientist, and even though he doesn't practice medicine, he works a lot with gene therapy and understands enough of the human body to do some serious damage."

I tried to fight the urge to snicker at that comment. She still didn't know what damage her father's science had done to me. Even though I was stronger and better for it, he still crafted me with his own knowledge, hands, and resources. Her father could create monsters, and she didn't even know it.

"So, he found a cure," I stated.

"That's what I was told. He spent months, the allotment that they thought I had left, and found something to save me. I still don't know what was wrong, exactly. I don't know that they do, even, but I guess it was one of those 'thank God for small favors' situations," Rachel explained.

"It sounds like a rather large favor to me," I replied.

"I survived it, whatever the mystery disease was, but as I grew older, I started to notice symptoms that didn't correspond to any of the normal hormone fluctuations that teenagers exhibit during puberty. I had hot flashes, extreme headaches, strange dreams..."

Her voice drifted off to the background, and it hit me like a ton of bricks, as the common expression goes. Rachel was more like me than I ever would have anticipated.

"Quinn? Quinn?"

I snapped back into focus, not knowing how long I had been gone, and smiled lazily at Rachel to hopefully disarm her.

"I'm boring you, aren't I? I'm afraid it's not as exciting as your story," Rachel said. "I'm not a Supersoldier. I'm just a girl that has some weird symptoms from time to time because my daddy created a non-FDA approved immunization to some strange, foreign disease."

"I like you the way you are," I said, not wanting to touch on the obvious until I was sure. I needed to talk to Marcus, and I wouldn't leave until I had more answers. And then, once I had the answers, I would give them to Rachel. She deserved it. She deserved it more than anyone.

"I'm glad for that," Rachel replied.

"I'm sorry I got... spooked."

"It's understandable," Rachel said, chuckling softly. "After all, you were still under the impression that I was a normal girl. Now I must seem surprisingly average."

"Not at all," I replied. Because she wasn't average. Not even a little bit. But I didn't want to pop that bubble. She deserved to live a normal life for just a while longer. I thought for a moment about what made normal girls happy, what would bring a bright, brilliant smile back to her face, and my mind settled on one answer. I moved a little closer to Rachel and stretched out my arms. "Why don't you come here, let me hold you for a little while?"

"That would be fantastic," Rachel sighed happily. Two seconds later, she was in my arms, and fifteen minutes later, I was holding her while she slept, completely at peace. I didn't sleep. I wasn't at peace. My mind was a jumble of thoughts and things that I still had to do. Because even though I knew my life wouldn't be easy from the moment I got my answers, I had expected most of the loose ends to be tied up after my meeting with Marcus. But I could start to see the threads continuing to unravel, and I knew that there were more ends building, and my quest wasn't over. Not by a long shot.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I'm baaaaaaack! I'll keep this short, since I know you all have been waiting a very, very long time. I appreciate the wait, and am so sorry life interfered with my writing, but it has a nasty habit of doing that inappropriately. Therefore, I hope this is worth the wait. (Also, to those who read _Twelve Months_: that will be updated soon... not sure how soon, exactly, but soon.) Please review, as I do read and appreciate every single one. Thank you.**

**Chapter 19:**

Even though I had been created to 'handle' different stressors in one way or another, I was absolutely dreading another day back at McKinley High School. Despite my powers and other special abilities, I was convinced that high school was something that I was remarkably unprepared for. Rachel had spent the night before, after she woke up from what she called a "power nap" and the majority of the morning coaching me on what I was to do from that point on. Although she had seen that I was capable of some social interactions, she didn't want me to keep "rocking the boat." I understood the necessity in staying under the radar, because that was exactly what my objective had been before Rachel came into my life and changed everything completely. I still had plans for Santana, and Rachel signed off on that, but as to other antagonists: Finn, the jock bullies, and people like them, I was to stay as far away as possible and do my best not to engage.

It truly was easier said than done. Even though it seemed that Quinn and I had integrated, which made me a composite of sorts, I wasn't sure that I'd still be able to harness the one side of myself that gripped more tightly toward logic and reason versus Quinn's raw, unbridled emotion. I still hadn't learned how to weave back and forth between one skill set and the next. I knew that it would take some time to master, and I had explained a number of different ways to Rachel that I couldn't be sure of anything that would happen when or if I got provoked.

I remember her looking into my eyes, then grabbing my hands and giving me one solid piece of advice. It was something that seemed so simple, yet enough that I could cling to it in more unsavory moments where I might find myself in hot water otherwise.

"Breathe," she advised, her voice hushed and calming. "When things get bad, you just close your eyes, and you breathe through it."

I had faced monsters. I had faced things that were meant to take down people like me... things like me, and survived. This was nothing, yet as I walked down the seemingly harmless hallways of this normal, human high school, I could feel danger lurking, crawling down my skin, waiting to alarm me and test my newfound sense of calm that was still hanging in a delicate balance.

I tried to avert my eyes from the teenagers that surrounded me, as I couldn't shake the feeling that they were all watching me. They were thinking things, harmful things that felt like they had powers of their own. These people could, in truth, cause me more harm than some of the monsters I had faced. They had the power to expose, to strip me down to the creation I was and deface the image of Quinn Fabray, normal high school attendee that meant nobody any modicum of harm.

Rachel knew better.

Finn knew better.

Santana possibly knew better.

That was already too much. I couldn't spare another single piece of misplaced knowledge on an unstable teenager who thought they'd be some kind of hero by standing in the way of some "alien" creature. These thoughts, I realized, might seem premature – unnecessary worries, but humans had interesting perspectives, I had learned. The strangest things seemed to motivate them, and until I could stand with complete confidence that I understood these strange motivating factors, I couldn't chance a single thing.

I was new to this world, and yet, the basic structure of what made a human existence was starting to show itself to me. The only thing I felt anyone could truly depend on was the fact that humans knew nothing. Anything could change in a moment's notice.

Anything.

Although I wasn't sure just how much control I had over my own brain (the logistics were still configuring, of that I _was _sure), I tried to force that tidbit of information down the hatch, hoping it would stick.

I passed through the hallways into my first classroom like a ghost, and slipped into a desk just as quietly. Boastful laughter echoed from the back row – where the popular kids sat. I tried not to eavesdrop, but found that within a few minutes, I couldn't help myself. Perhaps I was becoming more human than I had expected, at least behaviorally.

"And then I told her 'This is my school, freak-bitch. Come 'round me and mine again and we'll have problems, and not the kind that can be fixed with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and a good cry,'" Santana said, while a group of other uniformed girls, all in red and white cheerleading uniforms, laughed along with her. It didn't take much to figure out that she was talking about me again, possibly about our conversation in the courtyard as well. I knew that humans often liked to displace feelings about their true selves and replace it with a self-created form that they felt was more powerful. In this case, Santana played the bully.

She had boxed herself into that role and played it well, but I still had the advantage.

I could play anyone I wanted.

I decided that a desk in the back row, the corner that was still unoccupied, would be a better choice of seat assignment for me. At least, for today. Part of me was wary, as Rachel had diligently instructed me to be careful, but I still had plans to follow through with, and couldn't allow for too many setbacks. If there was an opening, I had to take it. Quinn would, therefore, I knew for at least part of me, this kind of behavior was natural, even if it felt completely foreign.

I walked past where Santana and the other girls were still chatting animatedly and very loudly, and managed a sweet, disarming smile. I channeled the part of me that could do fearless, and swallowed the trepidation.

"Good morning, Santana. Ladies," I said, then walked quickly past, not bothering to say another word. I left them in their stupor, and could practically feel Santana raging: this was certainly not the image she was trying to portray.

When I was seated, I heard the conversation change from where it had been before.

"Santana," one of the girls, an auburn-haired junior with bright, curious eyes, chimed in, "that was Quinn. She seemed... awfully comfortable with you. Like you _know _her or something."

"Shut up. I don't _know _her. I barely talk to her except to give her daily dose of the Lopez fear system." Santana was trying to defend herself, and was quickly spiraling to where I knew she was starting to hit her uncomfortable zone. "She's clearly lost her goddamn mind. Assuming, of course, there was one to begin with. I heard she escaped from a mental institution."

"I didn't hear that," another girl replied. I tried my best not to laugh, knowing that they could hear it if I did. Doubt was starting to surface, and Santana was now grasping at straws. I had read that often, when humans started to find themselves in a tight spot, they would create lies in order to get out of whatever troublesome situation they landed in. Santana's lies were probably convincing to a great number of people normally, but in her haste, they came off as hollow and nervous, not housing any of her usual venom and confidence.

"I heard she's made of magic," Brittany dead-panned from next to Santana. "Maybe her parents are magic, too. Wouldn't that be cool, San?"

"She's not magic, Brittany. The closest thing to magic she's got is her little troll friend," Santana snapped, rolling her eyes.

"Trolls aren't magic," Brittany drawled. "But Quinn has eyes like a dragon. I think she's a dragon-person."

"She's not a dragon," Santana said. "Obviously, because dragons are lizards with wings, and I don't see any scales or wings on Blondie over there."

"If she has wings, I'm going to be friends with her," Brittany said. "She can fly me to school so I don't have to worry about learning to drive."

"Or you could just take your driver's test again, Britts. You'll pass this time," Santana said softly, placing her hand on Brittany's for a split second before she pulled it back, remembering that she was in mixed company.

"I failed four times. If I fail again, the bearded lady says I can't ever drive. So, I need a dragon-person in my life. It's practical transportation."

The cheerleaders all chuckled, except for Santana, naturally. The brunette's already dark eyes grew darker in a split second, and her hand gripped the side of her desk angrily.

"What have I said about _laughing _inappropriately? Sit the fuck down and away from me," Santana raged. The cheerleaders quieted quickly, then scurried to seats that started two rows up, leaving a whole row of empty desks between Santana and them. Brittany moved to get up as well, but was stopped by Santana's hand on her hip.

"You said to move," Brittany explained.

"Not you. Sit. Please, sit," Santana replied.

I hadn't been looking for much proof as to Santana's weak spot, because I had been all but certain that it was Brittany before. Now, however, all doubts had been erased completely.

The rest of the students piled in and filled in the rest of the seats. This class, economics, was interesting enough, but was still one of my least favorites on the schedule because Rachel was elsewhere. Away from me.

I never liked when she was away from me... us... from us.

The teacher's teaching style wasn't suited to my needs, and I knew that I could learn the necessary materials on my own much faster than listening in class could provide, so I focused my attention elsewhere: on my social dilemma. Santana was scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, then nonchalantly slid it between her desk and Brittany's until it was safely in the blonde's hand. Brittany read it, chuckled, covered her mouth with her hand, and scribbled back on the same paper.

I remembered in the beginning of my time at McKinley, Rachel had given me many, many warnings about Santana and Brittany, and made it clear that nobody was to interfere. But that was before, when I had more fear about myself, insecurities about my own development and surroundings. But now, even though I wasn't completely in control, I had more confidence, like I had gone through my own sort of human development. I had gone through the biggest transition, integration, as far as I knew, so I could tread less carefully, and perhaps push my limits a little in order to get to the bigger picture.

I explained to Rachel what I wanted the night before, and reluctant as she was, she understood why I wanted such a seemingly difficult task on my shoulders.

"_I think she'd be a good ally," I said. _

_Rachel looked at me, wide-eyes and slightly open mouth, yet didn't budge from her current position, wrapped up in my arms. _

"_Santana Lopez doesn't do that... the 'ally' thing. She's not our friend, Quinn. She's never been a friend to me, to anyone in Glee, really. She joined as a spy, originally, and stays because, I don't know... she's good at singing. Or Brittany has fun. I don't know. Nobody knows. Nobody knows her," Rachel explained._

"_I could know her," I replied simply. _

"_How?" Rachel clasped her hands, frustrated. It was one of her tells. "With your psychic mind powers?"_

_I grinned slightly, then tilted my head to the side._

"_Yes, exactly."_

"_Quinn, that's not... I didn't mean," Rachel said, then paused. She flipped around and stared at me, like she was trying to see if I was being playful or serious. "You can't read minds... can you?"_

"_No," I replied truthfully. "But I can sense emotion. If I look at someone when they're in the crux of powerful emotion, I can pick it out of them, read it, and react accordingly."_

"_That's not going to help you with Santana, Quinn. She doesn't feel emotion. She's hollow inside, like a robot. All she feels is anger, I'm quite certain."_

"_She isn't a robot, Rachel," I said. I took Rachel's hands in mind and stopped her further stress upon them. I kissed the top of her head and breathed into her hair, allowing the soft floral scent of her lingering shampoo assault my senses and steel my next batch of thoughts. "When I first met her, and saw her with Brittany... in the choir room. Brittany paid me a compliment, something small, insignificant, and suddenly, when I looked back at Santana, to gauge her emotion, I could feel the jealousy as if I was experiencing it myself."_

"_Because Brittany complimented you? She got jealous?"_

"_She did, and it was so strong, Rachel... that's how I knew something was going on between the two of them. It was how I knew to push that button, because Brittany is her weakness."_

"_I'd be jealous if you complimented Brittany, I think. She's quite attractive," Rachel said softly. "She's prettier than me."_

_I focused in, to test my abilities before I took too much stock in them and what I could do with them. _

"_Why are you feeling insecure? You know I think you're perfect."_

"_You're programmed to think I'm perfect," Rachel sighed. _

"_I'll never get a chance to prove this to you, but please believe me when I say that even if I hadn't been created this way, you'd still be perfect to me, and you'd still be the one I wanted."_

"_I just... you're so important to me, and perhaps the insecurity stems from... wait. Wait," Rachel stopped, then swatted me on the upper arms and frowned. "Quinn! You read my emotion! That's incredible... and I think now I have to make that an illegal maneuver in this relationship. I can't have you doing that on a whim."_

"_This is proper course for hitting your girlfriend?"_

_Rachel smiled coyly. _

"_I'm human. We react abruptly and without reason sometimes. It's perfectly normal."_

"_I can accept that, but only because it's you."_

"_You're wonderful for dealing with my quirks," Rachel said quietly, then leaned in to place a soft kiss on my lips. Her fingertips traced down my jawline and I pulled away, matching her coy smile with one of my own._

"_If you were anyone else, I might have removed your arms from the socket."_

"We'll continue this tomorrow," the teacher said after the bell rang. "Finish up reading chapter seven and do the questions at the end of the chapter. I shouldn't have to tell you, but full sentences, please."

I wanted to ensure that I beat Santana out of the classroom, hoping that my walking past her would spark some sort of confrontation that I could control. She was smart, and I knew this, but she was also easy to read and therefore, would be simple for me to puppet.

I bumped into her notebook as she was standing and then offered an apologetic smile before I headed for the door. I barely turned the corner out of the classroom when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned quickly and found myself staring into angry, deep, dark eyes. A grimace shaped her mouth, and she grit her teeth.

"I've tried to figure out what to do with you, Fabray. You don't seem the type to scare with words, so maybe I need to attack your heel."

"My what?" I asked, feigning innocent and confusing, knowing this, ultimately, would give me the edge I needed.

"Your heel? As in Achilles? God, you're dense," Santana said, then cursed in a foreign language, one I identified as Spanish within a moment of listening, under her breath. "Anyway, just because I can't get to you, doesn't mean I can't and won't find a way to get under that seemingly perfect skin you've got. Everybody has a weakness, Quinnie. When I find yours, you'll be begging me to let go, and I've got jaws like a pitbull."

I smiled, ear-to-ear, like nothing she said phased me. Deep down, I was thinking of Rachel and the potential torment that could face her if Santana decided to go to the distance with her threats. If they tormented Rachel, I'd have no choice but to react, and that would be dangerous to both of us. I couldn't allow that to happen.

"I don't know why we can't just call a truce. Shake hands, go our separate ways, or maybe... maybe even attempt some sort of solidarity. Friendships do bond in unlikely places, we could work quite well together," I suggested.

"I have no interest in working with you. First of all, you're a freak. You're new and therefore unpopular. You have nothing going for you other than your looks, but you're too weird for anyone to really pay attention to the surface area. And we have nothing in common, because I'm somebody and you're, well, nobody. Nobody but a pain in my ass," Santana growled.

"Hi, dragon-person," Brittany said, walking past my heated discussion with Santana then heading toward her locker. She gave me a small, friendly wave and smiled before she turned completely, then continued on with her business.

"Brittany doesn't seem to harbor such a passionate dislike of me. Why do you?"

"Brittany doesn't hate anybody. She can't. She doesn't know any better... you know what? Stay the hell away from Brittany," Santana said, dropping her anger for a moment before throwing it right back on, like a favorite jacket.

"I don't mean any harm to either of you. I understand you, but I think my telling you this won't do any good," I attempted to reason with her, knowing that it was a long shot. "I think you'll have to realize that on your own. Have a nice day, Santana."

I turned my back on her, showing that I was not afraid, and continued down the hallway. On the way, I caught a glimpse of familiar knee-high black socks, very familiar pleated skirts, and long, dark hair that I saw vividly in nearly every dream I ever had.

Rachel.

I waved, and couldn't conceal the smile from my face. My heart was beating so hard that I could almost hear it, amplified, outside of my chest. I was so lost in my world of happiness from just seeing Rachel that I didn't feel Santana sneak up behind me until her hot breath tickled my neck and her voice whispered in my ear.

"She's your Achilles heel, and if you mess with me, I will _destroy _her," Santana threatened, sharpness and saliva echoing alongside her every word.

I spun around and gripped her hand where it stayed still at her side, then moved my fingers to the wrist.

"And Brittany is yours. Please don't start a war you aren't prepared to finish. We're similar, Santana, but the difference that will matter most to you is that you can exploit my feelings for Rachel. I'm not afraid to love her in front of any crowd you could conjure up. But you... so much fear," I said coolly. I saw her pupils dilate, even in the darkness that obstructed the normal hue of her eyes, then took a deep breath. I could smell her fear, could feel it in the goosebumps that materialized on my arms.

"I... we... there's not," Santana muttered.

"Come find me when you're ready to play nicely, Santana."

I floated down the hallway.

Power rippled in my every movement.

For the first time in my uncertain lifespan, I felt unstoppable. Unshakable.

Until I heard her scream.


	20. The Resurrection

To my loyal readers, fans, and friends:

First of all, wow. I can't believe the overwhelming support that you guys have given me throughout my years as a writer here on . I feel terrible that I've abandoned this story, as well as my other ones, but the steam and muse ran out, much to my disappointment. Life intervened, and over the past two years there have been break-ups, make-ups, triumphs, and failures in my little universe. I've been writing, honing my skills, and it's been so long since I've walked away from "The World Through New Eyes" that I hardly know where to begin in finishing. I give you this promise, however: I will finish this story because reading your comments made me remember not only how much I loved writing it, once upon a time, but how much you all mean to me as reviewers, followers, and fans. Give me a week, and you'll have a new chapter. From there, I'll try to put a new one up at least once a week until this story is finished. Thank you for 400 reviews, thank you for telling your friends to read my story, and thank you - those of you who are still out here waiting for the conclusion to the world I've created with 22-B and Rachel to come to what I hope will be a thrilling conclusion that none of you saw coming. ;)

All my love,

ALittleLion


	21. Chapter 20

**A/N: So, you guys are amazing. It took me a minute to re-read all 75,000 (plus) words of this story that's already been created and that you all have dutifully read, and I'm still not 100% certain that I'm fully back in the saddle, but writing them feels right. Amazing. Like coming home again. I cannot express enough gratitude to fully cover how I feel for all the reviews, favorites, follows, Tumblr re-blogs, etc, etc, etc. I only hope that this resurrection will be worth your time reading (and re-reading, 'cause God knows I had to), and that your wait will have been worth it. Please, please, let me know what you think, send me a PM if you'd like, and leave your reviews. I read each and every one of them, and they are part of the reason I came back in the first place... it's good to know people out there care, that there are people who fell in love with this AU world as hard as I did so many years ago, and that I've got fans who will stick with me through to the end. Now, without further ado...**

* * *

><p><em>Rachel.<em>

Though I knew so little of my programming and how it worked, every nerve in my body, every facet that made me a complete whole, made me strong, vibrated like a taut string that had been plucked for further instrumentation by the hands of a deft musician.

Instead of playing beautiful music, however, I lost control.

Quinn took the reins.

Whoever hurt her was dead.

"Rachel!" Quinn called, her voice loud and strong, echoing down the hallway as she ran at full sprint, feet propelling her strong legs against the freshly waxed floor as she bounded around a long row of lockers. McKinley High School was only so large, though I knew that Rachel could have been hidden on the other side of the world, in pain, and Quinn would have been able to track her down. Quinn paid no attention to the two athletes that flanked Rachel on either side, a few paces ahead, with empty plastic cups in their hands; since I was the more observant, the careful, calculating mind behind this operation, I saw everything and pieced the puzzle together when all my Primal half saw was red.

Red, dripping down the white blouse that Rachel had worn to school that day. Red, blotching her face and smearing the mascara she had painstakingly applied, likely so she could look beautiful for me. No matter how many times I told her that she didn't need anything more than a smile on her face to melt my heart, she made the effort, and I did my best to appreciate every minute detail simply because she tried. The globs of icy, sugary drink plopped onto the floor in a growing puddle at Rachel's feet, inches from her shoes - I had learned the proper name for them, Mary Janes - and another shriek came from the songbird's mouth. Cold, most likely, given the temperature of the foul substance I knew was a 'slushie,' because she had told us of these facials that had been doled out by these worthless sacks of meat in the past. Some of them were directed at other members of the Glee Club, but she took the majority of them.

The look of panic on her face was obvious, as if she could see something in Quinn that scared her, even though she knew she'd never be harmed at our hands. We were trapped inside, unable to pacify the situation, to rectify the damage, to either condemn her tormentors for what they'd done or take her into our arms so she might find warmth and comfort.

Quinn was in control now.

I feared for the consequences, for what would come of my weakness and inability to sustain the governing force when Rachel omitted such a sound of anguish.

"Quinn, I'm not hurt, you don't-"

Perhaps it wasn't a necessity because Rachel wasn't hurt, but the action Quinn wanted to take was violent and voluntary. Her fist struck like lightning, directly into the jaw of the jock on Rachel's left, a block-headed, blond with a scrunched up nose like a pig. The sound of the collision was wet, hollow, betraying that his bone had broken before the movement finished and the lower half of his face shifted to the far right. To most, the fight might look like it was some slow-motion battle, but I knew how fast Quinn was moving, how flawless each strike was, how deadly she could be with very little effort. The next sound was a low howl of the pig-faced boy as he crumpled to the ground, almost as if his knees had given out and were unable to allow for any sort of graceful fall. Quinn spun around and advanced on the other - he was darker skinned, with thin lips and a slighter build; I could only imagine what a single hit from Quinn would do to him.

"Do you feel like a tough guy? Every time you throw one of these in someone's face, do you feel like a man?" Quinn taunted, her shoulders low, her voice a feral growl as she continued moving forward while her adversary tried to walk backward, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did so, because he feared to turn his back. If he did, would she latch onto him like she had before? Would she tear at his flesh and spill his blood all over the hallway, not caring that we had been given a mission to blend in?

How could we complete the mission if we were removed from society? From Rachel?

_Quinn, you must stop this immediately._

"You stop me," she taunted, and everyone around would probably think she was speaking to the terrified boy as he continued to shuffle backwards. The other whined and whimpered in pain while he tried to crawl away, hopefully fast enough that she wouldn't come back for seconds.

_I can't, not when you're like this. _

It wasn't a lie. So many times, I had tried to overpower her, to suddenly gain back control when I got jealous of her kissing Rachel, of their skin touching, of her being in the saddle for too long while I sat, stagnant, waiting for my turn like an impatient child.

"Then watch this."

Her lips curled into a venomous smile and she raised her hand, cracked every individual knuckle in each finger on her right hand and then swept it forward, as if she was batting at a fly that was hovering inches from her face and the dark-skinned athlete tumbled forward, unable to stop himself, and crashed into the floor face first. He was boneless during the fall and hadn't put arms out to break the impact. Quinn's laughter chimed, a hollow, menacing sound as she continued moving forward. I knew what she was doing, flexing her muscle to show me who was boss. Deep down, I always had known that Quinn was stronger, that she could take control and keep it, if she so desired, but Marcus' words had been something of a comfort when he explained that he'd made us the primary in this body instead of allowing her to reign supreme.

"That's about enough of that, Black Mamba," a voice chimed, and I couldn't help but wonder who was colossally stupid enough to touch Quinn when she was like this, who would dare try to stop a woman who had just done the things that had been witnessed by a crowd of at least six others, who had likely put the final nail in our coffin and any subsequent hopes that we might be able to maintain this facade at McKinley and stay close to Rachel during the most taxing hours of her day. As Quinn looked around, I saw Santana facing her, a hand on her shoulder, meaning to be steadying instead of dangerous.

"Excuse me?" Quinn spat, rising to our full height and glaring down at the woman who had been a bully to us, to Rachel, a terrorist to nearly everyone in the school as if she was an insignificant speck. To Quinn, she would be; after what had happened with the other Supersoldiers, I couldn't doubt her skills, couldn't lessen our belief in her abilities and how vicious, how efficient at doling out hurt and pain she could be, when such methods became a necessity.

"I said, 'that's enough.' You got hearing loss or something?" Santana was posturing, and my skillset allowed me to realize what she was doing before Quinn; she still saw her as threatening, as another hurdle between her and Rachel, something to be neutralized. I looked beyond that and saw past Santana's high ponytail to where Brittany was comforting Rachel, helping get the excess slush off of her face, warming her up and wiping her tears. "We'll help you out, this time, but you gotta play along for the kids at home. Can you fuckin' do that or not?"

_Switch with me, Quinn. You've done enough._

"Yes," I replied, noticing the scowling demeanor Quinn possessed in the background while she settled and adjusted to her home in the back seat. "Thank you." The last of my words were whispered, a gracious nod of my head punctuating the sentence as Santana walked past where I was standing and looked at the jock who was now sitting up, holding a tooth in his palm and looking like the picture of wounded pride.

"You've done it this time, Marshall," Santana said, applauding his efforts with a slow clap that painted the halls with sarcasm each and every time her palms connected. "What will Daddy say when he hears that his son got his ass kicked by a girl? By the school freak show?"

What was she doing?

Maybe I'd made a mistake.

_Get to Rachel, you need to get to Rachel._

I looked back and noticed Brittany leading her down the hallway while others still gathered, eyes wide, and watched the scene unfold like the horror show it was.

"And all y'all rubberneckers," Santana said, whirling around to face the crowd that was standing behind her as if she was the Ringleader of a hormonally charged, stupefied circus. "Tell everyone you know what you saw here today. Berry's got herself a pet Pit Bull. Doesn't that make things interesting?" Santana waved her hands, effectively shooing them away just as the bell rang for the next class to start. I looked on helplessly, still unaware of what was transpiring just before my eyes. Had I fallen into a trap? Had I just made things worse by trusting Santana Lopez?

How could I be so foolish?

"Tell your fellow jockstraps, too. We'll get Ellen and Company back later for this, but for now... bitch knows she's got us beat. Hope you got a good long game, dyke," Santana said, then shoved me in a way that looked fierce, but barely felt like a tap. Marshall picked himself up and ran away with every ounce of strength he had left, though I saw the sideways gait of his run as he made it toward the stairwell; he was in pain, and lots of it. "Girls' bathroom, near the Science building. Go to her. I'll make sure this seems like a crazy rumor the jocks started 'cause they're prejudiced assholes who think 'girl on girl' action only exists in porn. Now you owe me one, Fabray, and I always collect, trust."

I was uneasy about the notion of owing Santana anything, but she helped Rachel, and that endeared her to me, even just a little. There had been no ulterior motive, that we could see, but Quinn continued to growl in my head, manifesting her dislike of the situation with a need to break bone and shred flesh.

"Whatever you need, I'm in your debt."

"Cheers, now beat it."

That was all I needed to hear.

Less quickly than Quinn, I ran down the vacant hallways, glad that class was in session and hopeful that nobody would stop me on the way. I ran up the staircase that led to the school's third floor and bounded past the art classrooms, heading toward the Science building, just as Santana instructed.

_Let her have fuckin' lied to us, I'll slit her throat._

My temple throbbed as I saw the doors to the women's restroom fast approaching and extended my hands to push the heavy door, then saw Brittany attending to Rachel who was perched on a counter near the sinks. She was wearing different clothing, articles that were a little tighter than what she usually wore, and lower cut. My eyes couldn't help but focus on the slight bit of cleavage on display in the baby blue polo with all the buttons undone; Rachel didn't have large breasts by any means, hardly enough to actually create cleavage, but what was there was beautiful, and maybe it was wrong to notice, but I just couldn't help myself.

She was so beautiful.

She was everything I wanted.

Even if I hadn't been made for her, made to complete her - or maybe even be completed by her - it stood to reason that I'd still find her not one iota shy of absolute perfection.

"Quinn," Rachel breathed out before hopping down from the counter and scampering across the bathroom to wrap her arms around my neck. I leaned down, cradling her in my arms, resting my hands on her lower back, and inhaled deeply. There was a lingering cherry scent, artificial and sickening sweet, but the undertones, the spiced floral scent, the inherent sweetness, was still all Rachel. "Quinn, you scared me back there, what you did. I know you're supposed to-"

Her eyes widened and I watched the realization dawn over her features when she remembered that we weren't alone together. Brittany was just behind her, blinking at us with confusion in bright, innocent blue eyes.

"Brittany, thank you. You and Santana both - you've been very kind to Rachel," I said, giving the blonde a small smile, a crack of my usually stoic features, a blank slate, until the brunette had started teaching me how to etch emotions onto it and feel. What need had I for more emotions that weren't directed at her? She was my purpose, my heart, and even though I knew the stakes were high - unspeakably high - where loving her was concerned, with Quinn happily in tow, I could have it all, or as close to it as Marcus would ever allow.

"Sure, Quinn," Brittany chirped, smiling and nodding her head. "Where's San?"

"Yeah, where is the she-beast?"

"Rachel, she helped you," I replied, giving Brittany a sympathetic look because while I couldn't even begin to understand the relationship between the two cheerleaders, there was love between them, incredible love with a depth not unlike what I felt for Rachel. I understood Rachel's sour disposition, her unwillingness to trust that Santana would want to help her, especially after all the bullying, all the insults and names, all the trouble she'd caused, but even though Quinn and I both worried about what 'favor' we might have to enact later, what she might ask us to do, we did owe her a debt of gratitude and rightfully so; Rachel was unspeakably precious to both of us, and Santana had seen to her quiet escape, to a fresh change of clothing, and a way for me to continue attending at McKinley. It was no small feat.

"Santana only helps herself, Quinn. I know her, she's slimy and two-faced and-"

"Hey. San's scared, too," Brittany said, opening up and speaking out in a way that seemed bolder than usual, though still not unkind in words or tone. "She wants Quinn on our side 'cause she's magic."

"Yes, she certainly is," Rachel replied, her tone slightly darker. Her eyes traveled over my body, hovering over inappropriate areas that made me uncomfortably aware of every facet of my physicality, every limb, every slope, every curve before settling back on my face.

Quinn smirked.

Soon, I'd have to switch with her again.

My heart sank.

"I'm not magic."

Not exactly a lie.

Possibly the closest I could come to lying, and for a moment, I was unsure just how far I could stretch the truth. Could I lie at all, or just not to Rachel? Could I lie to others, or would I always have to lean on my Primal for the dirty work?

Whenever logic needed to be twisted, the truth bent and broken, just a little, would I have to sacrifice control?

"She's not magic. She's my superhero."

Rachel wasn't good at lying, either.

Brittany looked at me, head tilted to the side, as if she was trying to see through my body, to uncover some truth that she wanted to uncover deep within. It was unsettling, and I looked to Rachel for assistance, hoping that she would bail me out if the situation got out of my control.

I knew Quinn would; she was always too eager to be helpful in exchange for just a few minutes in the driver's seat.

"Do you have superpowers? You can't really be a superhero without them," Brittany said, arms crossed as she kept her distance. Things she'd seen, things she'd heard, that wasn't proof enough that I was different? Everyone called me 'freak,' and now Quinn had sealed our fate as an outcast.

At least as an outcast, I could be with Rachel.

_You can't lie to her, 22. You can't lie to anyone. Let me help._

Quinn's voice got louder in my head, and I balled my fists.

Help me, Rachel. Please.

She didn't know the intricacies of my condition because I'd only told her the basics. She knew things, more things than Marcus had ever wanted me to tell her, and when he knew what we'd done, there was no doubt in my mind that reprogramming was in the future. Our Creator would take both of us to task, and we'd never see her again. So... what did it matter if I told the truth? Marcus would have to clean up our mess. It was only logical.

Are you gonna try to be a liar now?

"Brittany, I don't have-"

Pain.

_Pain. _

Pain _everywhere._

Rachel gasped and rushed to my side as I crumpled against the bathroom floor. Before, Rachel hadn't seen the immediate weakness that overcame me when I tried to lie to her at my apartment. She had been there for the aftermath, and the burn of her had lulled me back into some sense of security, wrapping me in a spiked blanket that was so safe that it was worth the dull ache, the slow burn that covered every inch of my body.

In every situation I could dream up, in every possible outcome I could conjure up in my mind, every win/loss scenario I could play out, the outcome was always the same: Rachel was always worth hurting for, fighting for, dying for - every risk I could take, I would... for her.

"She's perfectly normal, just..." Rachel said, the wheels turning in her head as she tried to figure out how to explain what had happened when even she didn't have the answers, didn't know where to possibly begin. "Low blood sugar! Just... low blood sugar, happens all the time. You really should be more careful, Missy." Rachel scolded me like a parent and I furrowed my brow, grateful that she was on the ground with me, holding me, but still experiencing the bone-deep tear and twinge of misery that washed through my system.

"I keep a jumbo bag of gummy bears in my locker! They might have... melted... 'cause I forgot them over Spring Break..." Brittany drawled, though her face belied excitement with her willingness to help. With nothing further said, she exited the bathroom door and left me alone with Rachel.

Finally.

"The last time this happened, I recovered quickly," I explained, not wanting to give the brunette any further reason to worry. Her fingertips stroked my face, trailed across my cheekbones, and I absorbed the touch, embraced the burn and sting.

I couldn't tolerate her touch because I wasn't supposed to feel it.

Certain species of animals developed adaptation techniques to deter predators. The poison dart frogs of Central and South America had a poisonous exterior that would befoul their taste and poison predatory species who might attempt to attack them; beyond that, the colors were a deterrent to make them seem deadlier, a warning beacon.

Rachel's touch was something to warn me against touching her.

The pain was supposed to be immense, unbearable.

Sometimes, it was.

Most of the time, I wanted her touch more than I was bothered by the pain, and the need that grew in me from the first time our hands touched in the choir room had only become more ravenous since that moment.

"When did this happen before?" Rachel's eyes narrowed, as if I had been keeping secrets from her, as if she was the authority on every medical condition we had, on every biological change, on every symptom; she might have been the daughter of our Creator and perhaps the cure for many of our ailments, the relief to a great many symptoms, but I knew that she wouldn't be the one to solve every mystery that surrounded us, Supersoldiers, and all the questions I couldn't shake or ignore.

"At my apartment. I... I tried to lie to you, to keep you from seeing me. It was necessary, but you didn't listen," I explained, hoping it would be enough and she wouldn't press for details.

A smile split her face like clouds opening to release fresh rays of sunshine upon the world.

I smiled back, an involuntary reaction, a part of our programming.

"You can't lie to me?"

"I don't think I can lie at all."

"My, my, isn't that convenient?"

Quinn can lie to you.

Quinn was getting better about not lying to Rachel, and while I could have easily taken that moment to explain further, to give her more details about the split, about 22-B and the Primal Quinn that had scared her before, I opted to kiss her instead. All day, I had been thinking about her kisses, about how many of them Quinn would get, how many more than me. Rachel sighed and relaxed into my body, neither of us willing to move from the floor, even though we were in the middle of a bathroom and I knew Rachel was something of a germaphobe. My hands threaded through chocolate brown hair, silken in texture, and slid downward, cupping her jaw as my lips moved over hers softly, with hardly any pressure, no insistence, no obligation for her to continue, to push further.

Breath tore at her lungs, and Rachel shuddered in my arms, batting impossibly long lashes up at me when her lips separated from mine. Again, I smiled and brought a hand up to my lips, feeling the warmth that existed in them, remnants of her personal heat signature.

A flicker of light passed through her dark irises, and I narrowed my eyes in response. That was the distinct look of her planning something... but what?

"Do you trust me, Quinn?"

"Are you going to take advantage of this new information?"

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"Yes."

"Yes, you'll answer?"

"Yes, I trust you."

Rachel beamed.

"Do you really need the answer to your second question, then?"

I paused.

Damn her for being so smart.

"No, I suppose I don't."

Rachel placed her hands on both sides of my face and kissed me fiercely, enthusiastically, and the shot of heat that pulsed through my veins felt momentous, like I had bitten down on a live wire and somehow emerged unscathed.

"Come to dinner at my house again, tomorrow evening, promptly at eight."

"But Marcus, your father, he-"

"You said you trusted me, Quinn," Rachel reminded me in a playful, sing-song voice, though there was no possible way I could ever forget. I may have never had any choice but to trust her, and even though the notion was a bit unsettling, I couldn't help but feel safe regardless. Why would she have any reason to hurt me? Why would she have any reason to do something that would harm me?

However, if I had to endure another dinner with Marcus, it could very well be my last.

"I do trust you, Rachel."

"Eight o'clock, then. It'll be in poor taste if you're late, though, considering what I have up my sleeve."

I rose to my feet, then immediately extended a hand to help Rachel to hers.

"You lack in sleeves, currently."

She hopped to her feet, then brushed off the outfit that was definitely Brittany's - no plaid skirt, and the jeans that occupied the lower half of Rachel's body were ripped, stylishly so, and studded with rhinestones in the pattern of a sun - and placed her hands on my waist.

"I'm going to tell them - my dads - about us tomorrow. I don't care if they pitch the biggest fit. I'm their little girl, and they just want me to be happy. Even Papa. I know he was hard on you last time, but he's always taught me that love is love, and never to be ashamed of it." Her speech was impassioned, but I barely caught the tail end of it; my heart stopped when she said 'love.'

Did she really love me?

Or did she love Quinn?

"Eight o'clock. May I walk you to your next class?"

Rachel linked her arm with mine and confidently raised her head, focused on the door and whatever McKinley High had to throw her way.

"I'd be terribly cross with you if you didn't. After all, you're my girlfriend."

Girlfriend?

I didn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.


End file.
